Thirteen Days
by boogima
Summary: Thirteen months, thirteen days, two people, one relationship. On an unparticular Monday, two people pass each other on the street. Where are they on that same day next month? And the month after that? Modern P
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This is a new WIP of mine, a modern P&P fic in thirteen parts, rated T for now. Biggest thanks to my betas, Gayle and Matt, any remaining mistakes and inaccuracies are entirely my own:) Any comments you have will be much appreciated!_

_Oh, and for a disclaimer: This story is based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice and the structure of the plot has been inspired by the ridiculously fabulous novel One Day by David Nicholls that tells a much bigger story, stretching over twenty years, by recounting one day of each year:)_

**Thirteen Days**

**Day 1**

_Monday, 27__th__ April 2009_

The insistent beeping of the alarm brought her out of her dream. And a good thing it was, for it had not been one of those dreams one never wishes to wake from. The floor felt cold under the soles of her feet and she shivered as she made her way to the bathroom. A familiar face greeted her in the mirror, its dark, tangled hair pointing in every which direction, red lines mimicking the wrinkles on her pillowcase adorning one cheek. Absentmindedly, she reached one hand to touch her crumpled cheek. How lovely.

She stayed in the shower far longer than she should have, the warm water untying the knots in her back, soothing the irritation she felt at having to wake up so early after the leisurely late mornings of the weekend. She wondered that no one had ever thought to pass a law prohibiting Monday mornings altogether. She, for one, wouldn't have minded a bit.

By the time she got out of the shower, she realized that she was once again running late. She rushed to the wardrobe, in the process hitting the big toe of her left foot on the doorstep, a profanity so crude that it's best left unmentioned escaping her lips as the pain shot through her body. Exactly fifteen minutes and twenty-seven profanities later, she was running down the street, dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a cardigan, one hand clutching her bag and the other waving frantically for the bus driver to stop. He did. A kind man, that bus driver.

On most mornings, she liked to walk to work. She enjoyed watching the town wake up, the bustle in the streets, the vendors opening their doors and the smell of fresh coffee that assaulted her when she walked past Joe's at the corner of Market Street and Park Lane. Monday mornings were not most mornings. On Monday mornings, more often than not, she found herself sitting in a crowded bus full of people whose faces mirrored her own – drowsy and discontent.

Some ten minutes later she was standing at a crossing, waiting for the light to change. Her bag was slung over her shoulder and her hands engaged in a desperate attempt to tie her unruly hair into a bun with a rubber band she'd discovered lying at the bottom of her bag. When the band suddenly snapped, so did she. In an uncharacteristic fit of anger, she hurled the band on the ground with a muttered _bloody-fucking-hell_ to accompany it, earning a few disapproving glances from the people standing around her. How she hated Monday mornings.

Now, had Elizabeth Bennet known that the man she would marry a year later was standing right next to her, she might have acted differently. But she didn't.

William Darcy disliked people who were late. And he hated himself just now, for having suddenly turned into one of those people. His suit was wrinkled and his face unshaven, and in his rush to get out of the door, he had forgot his tie. He was standing at a crossing, waiting for the light to change, visualizing the many different ways in which he could maim his alarm clock once he got back home in the evening, when suddenly a young, unkempt woman next to him threw an unexpected tantrum, throwing something on the ground and letting out a string of curses. He smiled despite himself. It felt good to know that he wasn't the only one having a shitty morning.

Now, had someone told him that a year from now, he would be standing at the altar with that same disheveled young woman, the words _I do_ impatiently waiting at the tip of his tongue, he would have laughed in their face. But no one did. And so he rushed forward when the light changed, not sparing her a second thought.

When he reached the office, he felt much like a schoolboy under the chiding glare of Margaret Reynolds eyeing him from behind the front desk. He muttered an apology – a completely unnecessary one, for he was her boss – and rushed past her towards the conference room where Richard and the clients were already waiting. His cousin and business partner Richard Fitzwilliam gave him a long look when he entered, and he was mortified to see the smile tugging at the corners of his cousin's mouth. How many times had he given Richard lectures on how unprofessional it was to arrive late to meetings? He would never hear the end of this.

At lunchtime, he bore the good-natured jabs of his cousin as best he could, laughing at Richard's disappointment when it turned out that the reason for his lateness was something as mundane as a broken alarm clock. His cousin had apparently had high hopes that William had finally met some girl and had been late because he'd stayed up all night making mind-blowing love to her. No such luck. William had trouble remembering when he'd last looked at a woman twice, let alone dated one.

When they reached the nearby pub they frequented for lunch, Charles was already waiting for them, a steaming plate of fish and chips in front of him. As he had many times before, William wondered if they shouldn't every now and then go somewhere that offered a little healthier fare. His thoughts turned to that place at the corner of Park Lane and Market Street, Joe's was it? He'd never ventured inside, but he'd seen the lunch menu displayed in the window – salads and soups. He wondered how many years would be added to his life expectancy if he ate his lunches there instead of the pub. But it didn't really matter now, did it? In a month he would be in Vienna and would probably spend the rest of the year eating schnitzels and strudels and whatnot.

As soon as they sat down, the conversation from Friday afternoon resumed as if there had been no two day's pause in between. He sighed.

"Darcy, you do realize that you have to come? It's in your bleeding honour, after all!"

The topic had been one and the same for several days now and apparently the weekend had not been enough of an interruption to make Charles forget it. Caroline Bingley was throwing a party four weeks hence, ostensibly to give everyone a chance to say goodbye to William before he left. In truth, William suspected that the fact that he was leaving was just another excuse for Caroline to hang on to his sleeve for one more evening, pretending that she was his girlfriend. She was not. But he had to admit that she'd been clever this time – throwing a party for him made it very difficult for him to avoid said party, especially when she'd already invited all of his friends and acquaintances.

Another sigh and he relented. "Fine, I'll come."

A smile lit up his friend's face. "Excellent! I can't wait to introduce you to my angel!"

At the same time, another lunchtime conversation was being had between two sisters sitting at a corner table by the window at Joe's. Two plates of the soup of the day stood untouched on the table between them, the smell of fresh coriander wafting in the air mostly ignored as Jane Bennet was trying to convince her reluctant sister to come to a party with her.

"Please, Lizzy, I don't know anyone there besides Charles and Caroline, I really need you there."

Elizabeth almost shuddered at the mention of Charles's sister. She'd met her twice and, in her opinion, that was two times too many.

"Trust me, Jane, if you want me to do you a favour, mentioning Caroline Bingley is not how you want to start the conversation."

Jane laughed. "She is a bit scary, isn't she? But I'm sure you'll learn to like her once you get to know her, she's really not that bad."

"Sure." Elizabeth replied, sounding everything but. Her sister really was too forgiving for her own good. Ever since Jane had started seeing Charles Bingley, his sister had been nothing but rude to her.

"Anyway, it's a big party, lots of people, you don't have to hang out with Caroline. And you could be my moral support when I meet his best friend."

"His best friend?"

"Yeah, Darcy something, I've yet to meet him. Apparently, he's like a brother to Charles, so his opinion really means a lot to him."

Elizabeth eyed her sister suspiciously. "What do you mean _his opinion_ _means a lot to him_? Sounds a bit ominous, if you ask me."

"Well, you know, Caroline told me that Charles really trusts his advice on everything."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "_Caroline_ told you?"

"Well, yeah," Jane replied defensively, "I actually think it was friendly of her to give me a heads up, you know. Meeting him seems to be sort of a big deal. What if he doesn't like me?"

Elizabeth sighed. Poor Jane, to be on the receiving end of Caroline Bingley's _friendly_ advice.

"Oh Jane, I'm sure he'll like you just fine. And so what if he doesn't? Charles can make up his own mind, can't he? But I'm curious, if he's _so_ important, why haven't you met him yet? You've been going out with Charles for what, a month now? I should think you'd have met his best friend by now."

"According to Charles, he's been rather busy lately. He's moving abroad soon."

"Abroad?"

"Yeah. Let me see... to Australia, I think? Anyway, the party is actually a sort of a send-off for him. And, well, I'll murder you if you mention this to Caroline, but I got the impression that he might be trying to avoid her a little."

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh at that. Avoiding Caroline Bingley was something she could definitely sympathize with.

"Fine," she said, between bouts of laughter, "if it makes you happy, I'll come face Crocodile Dundee with you."

It was close to eight o'clock when William finally finished work and headed back home. He knew he should have started packing already but instead found himself flopping on the sofa and turning on the telly. Just the idea of being the centre of attention at Caroline Bingley's ridiculous send-off party was making him exhausted. He didn't like attention, it made him uncomfortable. Especially the kind of attention the likes of Caroline liked to pay him. He had many acquaintances, and he supposed it was expected of him to say some sort of goodbyes. He was, after all, going to be away for quite a while. But the only people he would really miss were his sister Georgie, Richard and Charles. Surely he didn't need a party to say goodbye to them?

Now that he was really supposed to start thinking of leaving, William suddenly found that he didn't want to go. He'd only lived in Meryton for a year and the idea of moving again seemed tiring, to say the least. But the position they'd offered him had been too good to turn down. And he'd always said he'd like to live abroad for a while and here was his chance. There was nothing to hold him back, his sister was busy with her studies and Richard and the business could do just fine without him for a while. And Vienna was such a beautiful city, surely ten months there would pass in no time at all. So why wasn't he more excited?

Sighing, he switched off the telly. There was nothing good on. Was there ever? He wandered over to the fridge, but it was almost empty. It always was. He wondered if cooking would be more fun if there was someone else to cook for? And then, he laughed. Someone else to cook for? Richard and his bloody talk of girlfriends was really starting to get to him. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was going away. Changing out of his wrinkled suit and into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, he grabbed his keys. Who needed someone to cook for when Mr. Wong's was just across the street?

When Elizabeth got home there were five messages waiting for her in the answering machine, four from her mother and one from Char Lucas. The ones from her mother were full of her usual complaints: Why couldn't Elizabeth use the mobile her mother had bought her? That way her mother could reach her whenever she wanted, instead of leaving messages on a machine – precisely the reason why the mobile stood untouched in one of the kitchen cupboards. And why had she worn that awful dress to dinner yesterday? And also, could she tell Ed Gardiner that they needed to add more Harlequin Romance to the selection at Extensive Reading Co. – the bookshop Elizabeth co-owned with her uncle – and just who was that cute new boy she had seen there when she last visited? George, was it? Why couldn't Elizabeth date him? Elizabeth deleted her mother's messages, opting against calling her. Maybe tomorrow.

She then moved to the one from Char Lucas, her best friend ever since she'd given Bill Collins a nice kick in the bollocks when he'd tried to force Elizabeth to kiss him after school. Elizabeth had been eight and Char had been ten and Bill Collins, age eleven, had never forgiven either of them. Once, a good ten years later, Char had confessed that she hadn't really kicked him because she'd wanted to help Elizabeth, but because she'd been jealous. The thought of a ten-year-old Char Lucas madly in love with Bill "Snotnose" Collins still made Elizabeth laugh.

Char wanted to know if Elizabeth was still coming over on Wednesday evening? Definitely. They'd rent some no good flick, get some takeaway from Mr. Wong's and then spend the night ignoring the film and gossiping relentlessly. She'd ask Jane, too. Maybe together, she and Char could convince her sister to stop letting Caroline Bingley walk all over her.

Her fridge was nearly empty, but she managed to scrape together a few sandwiches and poured herself a glass of white wine. Settling into a well-worn armchair that stood in the corner of the room that served both as her bedroom and her living room, she took a sip of the wine and picked a book from the pile on the old, dusty television sitting on the floor next to the chair.

When people asked why she had demoted the poor old telly to serve as a table, her answer was always the same: There was never anything good on. Instead, Elizabeth liked to read. The walls of her little flat were covered by bookshelves. A large part of her beloved books had once belonged to her father. Her mother hadn't wanted to keep them when she and Elizabeth's younger sisters had moved away from her childhood home after her father had passed away several years ago. Elizabeth liked to think that her mother had wanted to get rid of them for sentimental reasons. That she didn't want the books because they were a painful reminder of her late husband. In truth, however, she much suspected that her mother had simply thought them a dust-gathering nuisance. In her twenty-six years she'd never understood how her parents had ended up married.

But soon enough all thoughts of her mother, the lousy morning she'd had and the undoubtedly excruciating party she'd agreed to go with Jane were forgot and she was lost in the pages of the novel she had picked. As she snuggled into bed a few hours later, her eyelids drooping, her head still full of the book, she sighed happily. Another Monday defeated. And a whole week ahead before the next one.

A few blocks away someone else fell asleep with much the same thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: Thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter, here, finally, comes day 2. My biggest thanks to my betas Gayle and Matt for keeping my grammar in line and my plot in order and my kangaroos in a correct formation:) Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own._

**Day 2**

_Thursday, May 27__th__ 2009_

It was just past midnight when they got to his flat, both a little tipsy. She was pinned between the door and his body, giggling against his chest when he reached behind her back and tried to open the door, fumbling with the key. He could feel the warmth of her breath through his t-shirt and felt strangely happy. She made him laugh. She made him feel warm. She moved things inside him he had forgot existed. And he was moving to bloody Vienna tomorrow.

Not six hours ago he had stood in a room full of people he barely knew, a pretentious glass of champagne in his hand, thinking that his evening couldn't possibly be any more rotten. He had been trying to converse with Charles and his latest angel, doing his best to ignore Caroline's remarks that had been varying from annoyed (what had he been thinking, showing up at the party wearing jeans and a t-shirt) to simpering (nobody could pull off a pair of jeans and a t-shirt quite like him) to things he couldn't think about without shuddering. Charles's angel had not been a revelation of any sort, not that he'd expected one. She had smiled too much and said too little and resembled the other angels that had come before her to a point of annoyance. By the time Caroline Bingley had dragged him onto the dance floor, it had seemed like the night had been completely beyond redemption. Little had he known that later he would find himself wishing that this evening would never come to an end.

He laughed and she felt his chest tremor with the sound. Unthinking, she leaned closer, pressing her face against his chest, inhaling his scent. Instantly, she felt him tense, and she smiled when she felt him lean against her, too.

"Bell..." he groaned, and she felt a momentary pang of remorse at not having told him her real name. "I can't even kiss you?"

"Nope. That was the deal, right?" Her smile grew wider when he leaned harder against her and breathed in a hoarse voice: "Screw the deal. I want to kiss you."

She had wanted to kiss him, too, about four hours ago. He'd looked so unexpectedly charming when she'd found him hiding in the garden, his hair a little mussed, a light stubble on his chin and an endearingly brooding look in his dark eyes, that for the first half an hour she'd wanted nothing else than to kiss him, drag him home with her and get rid of every single piece of clothing they wore. That's why she'd lied about her name. _Bell_, she had said when he had asked, the first thing that came to mind. If he was the sort to kiss and tell, then at least no one would know that she had been the one he kissed. And it was not a gross untruth, when one thought about it. Her father _had_ used to call her his Lizzy-Bell. When she was five, that is.

But that had been four hours ago. Now she knew him better. If she kissed him now, she would regret it. They would sleep together and the next day, he would hop on a plane, and she would regret it. She would miss him. And, just perhaps, he would miss her, too. So a deal had been made shortly before they'd sneaked out of the party. No kissing. No nothing. But she still hadn't told him her name. It had seemed embarrassing to confess that she'd lied and she hadn't wanted to ruin the mood. And if he was going away the next day, what difference did it make? Besides, it had a nice ring to it, Will and Bell.

When the door finally opened behind them, they stumbled into his apartment and she quickly stepped away from him in the hope of regaining at least a little of her senses. She felt his eyes on her when she wandered inside his flat, and she tried to keep a nonchalant air about her. It wouldn't do to show him how much he affected her.

She had arrived to Caroline Bingley's party three hours late because she'd been held up at work. George Wickham was supposed to have closed the shop that night, but he'd had some sort of a family emergency and she had stayed late to cover for him. It was not the first time this had happened since he'd started working at Extensive Reading Co., and she felt a little sorry for him. He was such a nice guy but apparently his family was even more of a mouthful than hers.

By the time she had found herself by the river, at the front steps of the imposing house where Charles and Caroline lived, she'd half expected to find Jane waiting for her at the door, ready to murder her on the spot. She'd been wrong. Jane had been inside, very much enjoying the party in the arms of one Charles Bingley, obviously no longer in need of the sisterly support she had used as an excuse to get Elizabeth to come in the first place.

From the few words she'd exchanged with Jane, Elizabeth had quickly deduced what had happened before she arrived. Jane had met the imposing best friend who had, according to her, seemed a little reserved and slightly irritated. Elizabeth had taken this to mean that he had been a complete arse and Jane was just too kind to say it. Further proof of her suspicions had come when Jane had told her that she had last seen Darcy dancing closely with Caroline and that the two seemed to have disappeared together somewhere. Elizabeth had sighed in disgust. Dislike of Caroline Bingley had been the only redeeming quality of this stranger who supposedly had some influence over Jane's happiness. Elizabeth sincerely hoped that once he arrived in Australia, he would be trampled by a mob of kangaroos and never be heard from again.

Darcy looked at her as she wandered around his flat. _Bell_. He was fairly sure that it wasn't her real name. But then, he hadn't been entirely truthful, either, had he? She looked at him quickly, over her shoulder, and then turned away again. She was beautiful. He wondered that he hadn't noticed it at first. He'd been hiding from Caroline Bingley in the garden when she'd suddenly walked straight to his hiding place: a weathered, wooden bench by the river bank, conveniently placed behind some shrubbery so that it couldn't be seen from the door to the garden. He had seen her long before she'd noticed him and had been amused by the numerous curses she'd muttered as she walked.

_Who throws a bloody party on a Wednesday, anyway_, she had grumbled when she was only a few steps away from the bench, and shrieked at his sudden reply:

"_I believe it was necessary in this case, since the man of the hour won't be in the country tomorrow."_

"_Oh, right,"_ she had conceded after she'd got over her surprise at finding him there, _"Darcy. I'd forgot about that prick."_

He'd almost laughed in surprise at her outburst, wondering how he could possibly have managed to offend this girl who he didn't think he'd ever even met.

"_He is a bit of a tosser, isn't he?" _he'd offered, much amused.

She'd smiled then, too, a little sheepishly. _"Actually, I've never met him."_

There. That had been his chance to be forthright. But he'd passed it. Instead, for some reason that now seemed unfathomable to him, he'd said:

"_Well, let's hope you never have to meet him then. If you already dislike him so much, you would no doubt loathe the poor sod if you ever had to spend any time in his company."_

And then later, it had just seemed too embarrassing to tell the truth. He'd thought that she might guess when he'd mentioned that he was moving to Vienna the next day, but for some reason she'd seemed to be under the impression that the guest of honour was headed for Australia (he'd coughed to hide his laughter when she'd repeatedly referred to him as _Crocodile Dundee_) and though she had been surprised to hear that he, too, was moving abroad, she hadn't put two and two together and he had not corrected her false impressions.

And now, she was there, in the place that was his home for one more night, and he hadn't a clue of what he was doing. He never brought girls home. Well, _never_ might be a bit of an overstatement. But he hadn't done it in ages. And certainly never with a witty, beautiful girl who he had promised not to even kiss. What a bloody moronic idea, that deal. And the product of his own mind, too.

"So this is what's all the rage in interior design now?" she smiled, indicating the piles of boxes scattered around the rooms.

He smiled, too. "Trouble with the movers. They picked the furniture up this morning and were supposed to come back for these later but something came up. This is the stuff that's staying here, it was supposed to be moved to storage today but now it'll have to wait until tomorrow morning."

"So are you moving back here when you come back to England?"

"Don't know yet. I'm renting it to someone for now, so maybe."

They stood for a moment in an awkward silence. He could think of nothing but kissing her. And if he'd known that she was thinking very much along the same lines, he might have done it, too, deal or no deal. But he didn't.

"Would you like something to eat?" he finally blurted, to break the silence. Instantly, he realized it had not been the best of his ideas. The fridge was probably almost empty.

"Sure," she replied, "What are you serving tonight?"

He smiled a rueful smile. "Chinese leftovers from yesterday?"

"Mr. Wong's?"

He nodded.

"Perfect, my favourite!"

She sat on the floor, watching him while he set them a table on one of the boxes. Cold Kung Po chicken and two cans of beer. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she was unable to stifle a giggle. And when she saw the dumbstruck look on his face, her giggle turned into outright laughter.

"What?" he demanded, thinking that she was laughing at him, embarrassed. Leftover Chinese, what a ridiculous idea. "I'm sorry, I know this is not exactly a gourmet meal, and..."

"No, no..." she hiccuped, "this is great. I... I was just thinking of what Caroline Bingley would say, if someone ever attempted to offer her a meal like this on a date."

He had to laugh at that. Caroline had barely tolerated his jeans and t-shirt, something he'd worn on purpose to irk her. A meal of yesterday's Chinese food served on top of a box with a can of beer to go with it would no doubt have been too much for her sensibilities. Or maybe not. Caroline Bingley had a surprising tolerance for things she generally disapproved of when said things were done by Will Darcy.

They ate in silence, both contemplating the sudden awkwardness that seemed to have overcome them when they'd reached his flat. They'd spent a good many hours on that bench in Bingley's garden, talking about everything and nothing, a little drunk, laughing like two lunatics when she'd managed to sneak undetected into the kitchen and back out again, with two glasses and a bottle of wine in tow, without alerting anyone to their secret side-party in the garden. When it had started to drizzle a little, both had been reluctant to go back inside and he had, in a spontaneous gesture that had surprised even himself, told her that he lived nearby and asked if she'd like to go to his place.

And that was when the deal had been made. After he'd told her that he was leaving the next day, they'd talked, half-jokingly, about the idea of two strangers passing in the night. It had seemed like a fun idea that, instead of talking about what they would do tomorrow or the next day, they would just enjoy this one night; and then the next day when they woke up, it would be as if they'd never met. No addresses, no phone numbers, no pathetic attempts to work out some sort of a long-distance relationship that would never work. If fate had intended that they end up together, they'd agreed, it wouldn't have had them meet at such an impractical time.

The deal had been simple: In addition to not exchanging numbers and other personal details that could induce one or the other to break the deal, there should also be no kissing or sleeping together. That would not be their story. Meeting someone amazing one night and then never hearing from them again was kind of romantic. _Sleeping_ _with_ someone amazing one night and then never hearing from them again was a one-night-stand. Nothing romantic about that.

She yawned and he wondered what the hell was he supposed to think about that. Was she bored? Tired? It was kind of late and he had a lot to do the next day. Should they call it a night? He could walk her home and then come back. But that's not what he wanted to do at all.

"Tired?" he asked.

"A little, it's been a long day. Would you mind if I tried out your mattress?"

He smiled. "Hardly."

He watched as she got up and walked to the mattress, flopped down on it and stretched her limbs a little. God, was she purposely trying to make him forget all about their well-laid plans? She flushed a little when she saw his eyes on her, intense, as he followed her and lay down next to her. Her smile returned when she watched him, awkwardly perching on the very edge of the mattress, leaving a self-conscious gap between them.

For a while, they only watched each other, so very aware of the small distance between them and how easy it would be to reach across it. When she was sure she was only seconds away from leaping at him and crushing his body against hers, she spoke to distract herself:

"Come on, Will. We must have some conversation."

"Must we?" he asked, his eyes dark upon hers.

"Absolutely. It would be entirely odd to just lie here for a half an hour and not talk about anything, wouldn't it?"

He smiled. "Do you talk as a rule then, while in bed with a man?"

"What? No! I mean, yes. That's a trick question. I'm not going to talk about _that_ with you."

He laughed, relaxing himself on the mattress, inching a little closer to her and turning to his side so that they were face to face. "Very well, what think you of books?"

"Books?" she asked, incredulously, "Oh no, I can't talk about books right now, my head's too full of something else." She blushed bright red when she realized what she'd blurted and lay stock-still as he reached his hand to touch her cheek.

His voice was low when he asked: "And what might that be?"

This was it. He was going to kiss her, and she bloody well couldn't handle it if he did. "You know, scratch that," she replied, forcing into her voice a lightness she didn't feel. "Let's talk about books. You already know how I love them. Or even better, why don't you read to me?"

"Read to you?" It was his turn to sound incredulous.

"Sure. I saw you still had at least one book unpacked. You could read me a bedtime story. My dad used to do it when I was little." She smiled a beguiling smile, and he couldn't help but return it. She was right. Kissing was a bad idea, and they'd better think of something else.

"And did your father often read Raymond Chandler to you?" he asked, reaching for the book by the mattress.

"Sometimes," she replied, not missing a beat, "although I much preferred Agatha Christie. Smoking guns are not the thing when one wants a good night's sleep, you know. Arsenic in a cup of coffee is a much happier thought."

He shook his head and reached for his glasses, hoping that she wouldn't make jokes about them. Reading glasses always made him feel like an old man. But she said nothing, merely looked at him with a smile on her face as he set the black-framed specs on his nose and cleared his throat. His voice was low and even, and she closed her eyes, listening happily.

"_It is quite true that I wasn't doing anything that morning except looking at a blank sheet of paper in my typewriter and thinking about writing a letter. It is also quite true that I don't have a great deal to do any morning. But that is no reason why I should have to go hunting for old Mrs. Penruddock's pearl necklace. I don't happen to be a policeman..._"*

He was no further than at the bottom of page two when he noticed that she seemed to have fallen asleep. Her chest was heaving at an even pace, and there was a small smile on her lips.

"Bell?" he asked. She didn't reply. He smiled. So much for not sleeping together. He put the book back on the floor and took his glasses off, snuggling next to her. For a long time he looked at her, memorizing every feature and once again wondering that it had taken him almost an hour to realize just how beautiful she was. At first he'd thought that she looked quite ordinary. Then he'd noticed the amused sparkle in her eyes and wondered at the difference a pair of fine eyes could make. Now that he looked at her, he was unable to remember what it was that had made him think her ordinary. Extraordinary, that was the word for her. So full of warmth and laughter, of some secret happiness, that it made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

And just like that, he made a decision. To hell with the deal. In the morning, he would tell her just that. They could make it work. Vienna wasn't that far, and Meryton was only an hour and a half from London. He could fly back on the weekends. Or she could fly there. Or he could tell the Austrians to keep their bloody job and just stay here. Deals were for tossers. They _would_ make it work. With a happy smile on his face, Will Darcy fell asleep next to his girl.

Shortly after six a.m., Elizabeth woke up. Her head ached a little, and her mouth felt dry, and for a moment she wondered where the hell she was. And then she turned her head and remembered. _Will_. He was fast asleep next to her, sprawled across the mattress, still in his jeans and t-shirt, his hand holding hers. She smiled. He looked absolutely perfect, his hair tousled and his mouth hanging open. What the hell was she supposed to do now? All she wanted to do was to stay there, to wake up with him, to beg him to stay. But that wasn't the deal. The deal was that when they woke up, it would be as if they'd never met. He'd said it himself. Long-distance relationships never worked. Too little time together, too much leaving. It would only be disappointing. If fate had wanted them to end up together, it wouldn't have had them meet at such an impractical time.

Shortly after seven a.m., Will woke up. With a smile on his face, his eyes still closed, he reached his hand on the other side of the mattress. There was nothing there. "Bell?" he asked, opening his eyes. Maybe she'd gone to the bathroom. "Bell?" His heart lurched when he noticed a yellow post-it note on the pillow next to him.

_In the morning it will be as if we never met. I loved every moment of not-meeting you. Bell._

No curse was left unused as he went about his morning that day. The movers that came for the boxes were met with such a black look that they nearly turned around at the door and ran away. The lady behind the counter at the coffee shop downstairs nearly dropped the coffeepot on the floor when she saw the murderous face of her latest customer. When Bingley called to ask what had happened to Darcy the previous night, he received a string of curses for an answer, although followed with an apology and an odd question: Did he by any chance know anyone by the name of Bell? He did not. More curses. When Richard came to pick Will up to drive him to Heathrow, he was met by a scowl unmatched by all the scowls he had previously seen on his cousin's face – and he had seen quite a few. As the plane took off from the runway, there was only one thought on Will's mind: _What the bloody hell had she been thinking, leaving him like that?_

_What the bloody hell was I thinking, leaving like that?_ was the thought that mostly occupied Elizabeth's mind that morning. By ten o'clock, she had decided that she'd been a complete arse. By eleven, she was wondering if long-distance really was such a bad idea. Sure, it had never worked for her before but then, none of the guys before had been Will. By noon, she was running towards the street his flat was on. By one o'clock she was sitting on the floor outside his door, crying. He was gone. If she could have opened the door, she would have been met by four empty rooms and one yellow post-it note lying on the floor, crumpled.

_*Raymond Chandler: Pearls Are a Nuisance_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: We're finally on to day three, thanks to everyone who has commented! And my very special thanks to Matt and Gayle, without whom this story would no doubt have some serious plot and grammar issues:) Any remaining mistakes are mine. Oh, and should anyone from Austria be reading, my apologies, I've only been to Vienna once and am definitely no expert when it comes your lovely country:) _

**Day 3**

_Saturday, June 27__th__ 2009_

A steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a travel guide in the other, Will sat on a bench on the bank of the Donaukanal, watching the greenish water flow slowly past him. His mind, however, was miles away, on another bench by another river entirely. A month had passed, and he was still unable to figure it out: _Why the hell had she left? _

At first he'd been angry. Mad as hell. Now he just felt dull. It was obvious that whatever the night had meant to him, it hadn't meant as much to her. It had been this unhappy realization that had stopped him all those times he'd been on the phone with Bingley, just about to confess the whole thing to him in the hope that Bingley might be able to tell him who Bell was. He would not try to reach her, only to hear her say that she wanted nothing to do with him. That would be pathetic. But still, it bothered him that she'd been able to just leave like that. Surely he couldn't have imagined the pull between them? She must have felt it, too, at least a little. Must have.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see the woman approaching him and was startled when he heard the familiar voice:

"I'm sure I can give you a better tour of the city with my eyes closed than that _Lonely Planet_ of yours."

Anne Bergstein. He smiled. "My sister gave it to me. I thought it might come in handy if you got bored with me and decided to ditch me in the middle of the city."

Anne Bergstein was the daughter of Katrina Bergstein, the formidable owner of Bergstein & Koell, the company that had hired Will to consult on a large restoration project. Will took great pride in the fact that in a few short years, the small architecture firm he ran with Richard had garnered considerable praise for several projects where old industrial buildings and other such places had been restored and modernized for other uses. To Will's chagrin, however, he had learned soon after he arrived that Katrina Bergstein had not hired him so much for his own, in his opinion, quite worthy achievements. Oh, no. The more he thought about it, the more it irked him to know that it was not for the stellar job he'd done when a mid-nineteenth century cotton mill in Milton had been turned into a beautiful public library that Katrina Bergstein had asked for him. Nor the ongoing project in Meryton that would give a cluster of late eighteenth century barracks new life as faculty buildings for the expanding Meryton University. No. Instead, Katrina Bergstein had hired Will Darcy because he had the right surname. Apparently his father, a renowned architect by the name of George Darcy, was a _dear friend_, and Katrina Bergstein had asked for Will because of _his_ recommendation.

Will had scarcely believed his ears when she'd told him this, in a matter-of-fact tone that had completely belied the import of her words. That his father, who he had barely spoken to in the years since his mother passed, would have talked about him to anyone was unbelievable in itself. That he would have given an actual recommendation seemed downright preposterous. George Darcy never had anything positive to say about his son. Never. No matter how hard Will tried, no matter how much he achieved, his father always found things to criticize. And now he was supposed to believe that he'd got the job because of his father? He didn't much care for the idea.

"So, are you going to sit there for the rest of the morning, staring into distance, or are we going to see the city?"

Will shook himself out of his thoughts again and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I was distracted. Let's go."

As Anne Bergstein gingerly put her hand in the crook of his arm and started guiding him towards the city centre, an excited babble bursting forth from her usually quiet lips, he didn't mind. He liked Anne Bergstein.

:-:

When Elizabeth pushed open the door of Extensive Reading Co., she saw that her uncle was already busy between the shelves, and there was a huge pile of books in a perilous heap on the counter, waiting to be shelved. Elizabeth loved the quiet of early Saturday mornings when there were not yet many customers about.

"Morning, Ed," she smiled. "Is the kettle on?"

"Morning, dear," Edward Gardiner poked his head up from behind a shelf. "It's on. Will you make me a cup, too? But English Breakfast, please, none of that fancy Rooibos stuff you kids drink these days."

Elizabeth only chuckled in reply – they'd had the same conversation a thousand times. A few minutes later she was back with two big, old, incredibly ugly mugs. In bold, uneven, black strokes a name had been painted on the side of each mug. _"Ed"_ said the first. _"Tom"_ said the second. A permanent reminder of the insufferable pottery class Elizabeth's mother and Mrs. Lucas had forced Elizabeth and Charlotte to endure many, many years ago. Only after Mrs. Bennet had actually seen the two mugs had she decided that perhaps her daughter had no talents in pottery after all, and that there might be better things to occupy her on Tuesday evenings.

"Lizzy?" her uncle asked, eyeing her over the rim of his mug. "You haven't by any chance met anyone named William recently, have you?"

Elizabeth was so startled she nearly dropped her precious mug. "N- no," she stammered, feeling the blush rising on her cheeks.

"No?"

"Well, maybe. Why?"

Edward Gardiner smiled, amused at his niece's obvious discomfort. "No reason," he said, setting his mug on the counter and turning to the pile of books as if he'd suddenly lost interest in the subject. Elizabeth pretended to busy herself on the computer behind the counter, her cheeks red, glancing suspiciously at her uncle every now and then. But, as a few minutes later he seemed still very much occupied with the books and said not another thing about the subject, she relaxed and lifted her mug to her lips to take another sip.

"It's just that," her uncle began again, and she almost choked on the hot liquid, "I was looking at these books you've ordered."

"And?" Elizabeth huffed.

"Well," Mr. Gardiner continued good-naturedly, "I seem to sense a little pattern here."

"A pattern?" Elizabeth asked, now truly baffled at the direction the conversation was taking.

"You see," her uncle said, lifting a book from the pile. "Here we have some William Golding."

"So? You know _Lord of the Flies_ is a favourite of mine."

"And here," her uncle continued, ignoring her reply, "we have a nice selection of the ever fabulous Mr. William Faulkner. Another favourite of yours?"

"Please, Uncle Ed. It's just a coincidence."

"Indeed? I suppose that could be possible."

Elizabeth sighed, relieved that he seemed to be of the same mind as she. Of course, it was a coincidence, she was hardly _that_ pathetic. Was she? And was it really necessary for her uncle to be quite so perceptive?

"Indeed, it could quite likely be a coincidence," her uncle repeated nonchalantly. "Unless, of course, one takes into account the fact that we also have here some William Blake, at least seven different titles of Mr. William Shakespeare and even the collected works of, um, let me see…" her uncle mumbled, pretending to squint his eyes to read the name of the author printed on the cover, "oh, right, Tennessee _Williams_!"

Ed Gardiner smiled triumphantly as he dangled the final title at Elizabeth's face. She stood gaping at him, her mouth opening and closing, unable to form a reply. Just then, the phone in the backroom went off, startling them both. He put the book back on the pile, shaking his head and laughing at the bemused expression on his niece's face.

"Saved by the bell, eh, dear?"

Elizabeth looked at her uncle's shoulders, shaking with mirth as he left to answer the phone. Saved by the _bell_, indeed. Shit.

:-:

"Who's this?" Will asked, stopping in front a painting of a young woman with long, dark hair and impertinent eyes. They were in the middle of touring Schönbrunn Palace, a former imperial summer residence, now filled with throngs of tourists eager to see how the monarchs of old had lived.

"That's Elisabeth of Bavaria," Anne replied, stopping next to him. "She was the Empress of Austria in the 1800's, quite the Lady Di of her time."

"Oh," replied Will, gazing closely at the painting, the lady in it seeming to stare right back at him. There was something magnetic about her eyes. Something familiar...

"She was only sixteen when she married Emperor Franz Joseph, I think. It was an unhappy marriage, I believe, though apparently he was very much in love with her."

"She didn't love him, then?" Will asked, not taking his eyes off the Empress.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I think they lost a child and were much estranged after that. I recall that she was reputed to have had a number of lovers, but I'm not sure if it was true or not. And of course he, too, must have had several; I suppose it was the way of the time."

"Right," Will replied, distractedly, only snapping back to the present moment when Anne poked him in the ribs, laughing.

"She was quite a looker, wasn't she?"

Will laughed, too, tearing his gaze away from the painting. "Indeed, I suppose she was."

:-:

A quarter to three, Elizabeth was just about to start closing the shop, her uncle having gone home a few hours earlier, when she heard the front door open and lifted her gaze to see Jane walk in.

"Closing early?"

"It's been so quiet today that I'm sure no one will mind a few minutes less shopping time."

Jane smiled a knowing smile. "Impatient, are we?"

"Hardly." Elizabeth sighed. "I don't know. I'm sure I should be more excited, but somehow, well, I'm just not."

"Come on, Lizzy. It'll do you good. Cheer you up a little; you've been so gloomy these past few weeks. I know you keep saying everything's fine, but I know you better than that. I wish you'd tell me, Liz."

Cheer her up. She supposed Jane was right – she hadn't exactly been cheery lately. She kept telling herself that it was ridiculous to pine after a man she didn't even know. That he probably wouldn't have been that special if she'd really got to know him. That the hollow feeling in her chest would go away, if she'd just stop thinking about him. But it was so bloody difficult.

At first she'd thought of trying to track him down. She knew his old address; surely it would be easy enough to find out his new one? But something always stopped her. What if he was glad she left? He'd been the one to suggest the deal, after all. Wouldn't it make her look pathetic if she went out of her way to find him, only to discover that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Could she handle it?

So, when a week ago she'd been in the back room of the shop, unpacking a large delivery, and George Wickham had come to her, unusually nervous and fidgety, to ask her out on a date, she'd said yes just to show herself that she was completely over her one-night-stand that wasn't. And now the day of the date was here, and she felt like she was somehow betraying Will.

"Shit. Maybe I should just call him and cancel the whole thing?"

"No, Lizzy! For once mum is right, George seems like a great guy. I'm sure you'll have loads of fun with him! You're not going to stand him up, young lady, I forbid it!"

Elizabeth looked at her sister standing in front of her, her hands on her hips and her lips in a pout, a spot-on imitation of their mother at her most stubborn, and could not help but burst out giggling.

"Fine, mum. I'll go."

A happy chatter filled the small bookshop as Jane helped her sister close the shop, the two discussing the ever important details of what Elizabeth would wear and where George was taking her. If Elizabeth did feel a light twinge in her chest when Jane suggested George might take her to Mr. Wong's after they'd gone to the cinema, she chose to ignore it.

:-:

"What is this again?" Will asked as he took a sip of his drink, trying not to wince at the strange taste.

"A Radler. Do you like it?"

Attempting to be polite, he took another sip. And then, with a shake of his head and a rueful smile, he had to admit: "No, not really."

His admission brought about a round of laughter from his companions, and soon Will, too, was laughing. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up to the trees that surrounded them and to the lights of the giant Ferris Wheel that hovered somewhere above the branches. It had been a good day.

His feet were sore from walking around the city – true to her words, Anne Bergstein had given him an extensive tour, filled with tourist attractions like the Schönnbrun, but also unlikely places Will much suspected the people at _Lonely Planet_ had never even heard of. Later, they'd met with Tomas and Liesl, friends of Anne that Will had met a couple of times before, and dined at a small Moroccan restaurant that Katrina Bergstein would no doubt have disapproved of. There, sitting on the floor of the dimly lit, cozy room, eating with his hands, laughing shamelessly when Liesl's face turned bright red when she swallowed something unexpectedly spicy, Will had felt the happiest since his arrival. And still, something was missing.

:-:

George Wickham came to pick Elizabeth up at seven. Or a quarter past, to be exact, not that he apologized for being late. He made a few smooth compliments about the dress she was wearing but Elizabeth, distracted by something unexpected Jane had said about five seconds before the doorbell rang, did not hear him. Neither did she notice the look of displeasure that crossed his face at her lack of reaction to his words.

Elizabeth lived in the city centre and, as it was a warm, clear night, they walked to the cinema. Market Street was bustling with people, and on a little square they passed, a man in a black suit sat playing a piano that had been dragged out from a nearby restaurant. In the trees that lined the street, little lights twinkled. It would have been a perfect surrounding for a first date had Elizabeth noticed any of it. But she didn't. All she could think of were the supposedly innocuous words Jane had uttered as she had twirled Elizabeth around in the foyer and sprayed some more hairspray on her curls.

She did manage to be mildly amused when, somewhere in the middle of the film, George yawned and stretched his hands, landing the other on her shoulders. She'd not known guys actually did that. But it wasn't until after the end of the film when they were seated in the corner of a nearby pub, that George Wickham was finally able to catch the attention of his date. Had he known that an offhand remark about Will Darcy would have such an effect, he would have mentioned him the moment they walked out of her door.

"So you know Darcy then?" he asked, gauging her reaction. She didn't disappoint, flushing and nearly toppling over her pint.

"Oh, I know Will... Darcy, I mean..." she sputtered. "Or honestly, I don't. I've met him once."

He smiled, raising his brows. She instantly realized he thought she'd slept with Will. Darcy. _Will_ _Darcy._

"It's not what you think," she hastened to add. "He's no great friend of mine." Well, that much was true. She didn't even know who he was. Not really. She thought back to her conversation with Jane earlier.

"_Quick,"_ Jane had said. _"Turn around; I'll put some more in the back. There... You know, I told Charles yesterday that you were going on a date with George, and he says he knows him. Or used to know him. George is an old friend of Darcy's or something. Or used to be, Charles said they're not close anymore."_

"_No wonder,"_ she'd snorted. _"George probably got tired of being bossed around by him. Jerk."_

"_Lizzy! Giving advice to his friends doesn't make him a jerk. I don't know why you've got such an attitude about him; you've never even met the guy!"_

"_I know Jane, I'm sorry." _she'd said in an attempt to appease her sister_. "I just think there's something a little off-putting about how reverently Charles and his sister talk about him. No one can be that good. But enough of him, he's far away in Australia while George, on the other hand, will be behind that door any minute now. How do I look?"_

It was then that the conversation had taken a disturbing turn. Instead of commenting on her looks, Jane had looked at her sister quizzically.

"_What do you mean, he's in Australia?"_

"_Well he is, isn't he? Crocodile Dundee, remember?"_

"_Oh,"_ Jane had said, as she'd understood what her sister was talking about. _"A funny thing about that. See, I misheard Charles when he first told me about it. It was his fault, really, for he was distracting me with... well, you know. Anyway, Darcy's not in Australia."_

"_No?"_

"_No,"_ Jane had smiled. _"He's in Austria, actually. Now, turn around once more so I can see how..."_

The rest of her sister's words had been a blur to Elizabeth, and when the doorbell had rung a few seconds later, she'd mechanically turned to open the door, barely registering who was behind it. Darcy was in Austria? _Austria? _Could it be?

And then, some three hours later, the final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, confirming what she'd already known to be true. George had been droning on about some missed job opportunity, and she'd barely been listening to him, until suddenly something he'd said had caught her attention:

"_If only Will Darcy hadn't been so stubborn, I might now be working in one of the leading architecture firms in the country."_

_Will Darcy_. She'd very nearly spilled her drink.

:-:

"Come on," Anne Bergstein said, as they sat on the tram heading home from the Prater. "I can't believe you've lived here a whole month and have never eaten at a wurstelstand."

"A wurstelwhat?"

"A wurstelstand! Seriously, I'm beginning to wonder if my mother ever lets you out of the office."

"She doesn't, actually," Will replied, gravely, before giving her a smile. "I'm kidding; I know what a wurstelstand is. There's one just outside my building. But I've never eaten there; it looks a bit sketchy."

"Well, the one I'm taking you to isn't the least bit sketchy. And they have the best sausages in the city. I promised you the best tour in town, and your quintessential Vienna experience won't be complete without this last stop."

"Well, in that case, we have to go. I wouldn't want to miss out on anything important – after all, I'm only here for the next nine months."

Anne laughed and leaned against his side, and he turned his head to look out of the window, suddenly uncomfortable. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to another midnight snack, cold Kung Po chicken and two cans of beer. He never would've guessed how melancholy a man could get just thinking about Chinese food.

His thoughts were interrupted when his mobile started ringing in his pocket. He'd barely said hello when he heard a muffled cry at the other end of the line.

"Georgie? Georgiana?"

"…."

"Calm down, love, I can't hear you. What's happened?"

And then, his face went pale, and he nearly dropped the phone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: First of all, I'm so sorry it took me forever and a day to update, I hope someone's still reading:) Thank you to everyone who read and commented on the previous chapter, and to Gayle and Matt for taking the time to read my ramblings before I post and helping me improve:)_

**Day 4**

_Monday 27__th__ July, 2009_

It was early morning when Will started his car – his father's car, to be exact, though he supposed that it, too, now belonged to him – and headed towards Meryton. It seemed odd to be going back there, though only a few months had passed since he left. So much had happened since then, that it now felt that his life in Meryton almost belonged to another lifetime. But back he would go. London was not for him; it had never been, and in these past weeks he had felt it more keenly than ever before. And Vienna was quite definitely no longer an option. Besides, there was a bookshop in Meryton he desperately needed to visit.

His whole life since that short phone call a month ago had been a blur. Georgiana's cries still echoed in his head on those sleepless hours before dawn when he tossed and turned in his sheets, trying to reconcile himself to what had happened, and to all that it meant.

"_It's papa, Wills,"_ she'd cried, her voice full of panic. _"He's... I don't know what to do, Wills. They say he's dead!"_

Dead. George Darcy was dead. A game of golf at a Derbyshire golf course, a glass of brandy and a nice cigar at the club. A massive stroke at the age of 57, and William Darcy had a father no more. Instead, he suddenly had two architecture firms, an enormous, empty house in the middle of nowhere, a nineteen-year-old sister stricken with grief – and an all-consuming regret gnawing at his insides because he'd barely said three words to his father when they'd last spoken.

Will had not cried when he'd heard the news of his father's death. Air had escaped his lungs and a strange emptiness had settled in his chest, but he had not cried. Nor had he cried at the funeral, where countless nameless faces had expressed their condolences to him and to a teary Georgiana. Up until the reading of the will, his stony facade had remained intact. And then, upon hearing the final words of his father, spoken in the dry voice of the London lawyer, he had found himself swallowing tears. _To my son, William, I wish to leave the majority of my shares in Darcy Ltd. I can think of no better man to run it, no one more capable. _No better man. No one more capable. He'd cried like a baby.

:-:

At noon, there were twenty-three customers at Extensive Reading Co., and only one member of the staff present to serve them. Elizabeth stood behind the counter, trying to simultaneously check out the customers in the line, give advice to her mother's good friend Mrs. Long on how to get her teenage daughter to read something that didn't have sparkly vampires in it, and to explain to an angry, elderly gentleman that the fact that he had not liked the book he'd bought a week earlier was not sufficient grounds to demand a refund his money. Inside she was cursing. Where the bloody hell was George?

Half past noon, just as things had conveniently slowed down, George Wickham sauntered in through the front door, his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Where the hell have you been?" Elizabeth hissed as he reached the counter. "You were supposed to be here over _two_ hours ago!"

"Forgive me," replied George, arranging his face into an apologetic smile. "It was my mother again; she had a bad morning."

Elizabeth snorted, "A bad morning, you say? She seemed just fine when I spoke to her on the phone earlier. _Twice_. Said she hadn't seen you since yesterday."

"Oh Liz, love, you wound me! You know how my mother is; she's hardly lucid half the time. I could've sat by her bed and held her hand all night and she wouldn't have remembered a thing."

"So you keep saying," Elizabeth muttered, turning away from him. She didn't believe him for a minute. George kept telling stories of his hardships, caring for a demented, alcoholic mother all by himself. That's what had won him the job in the first place – Ed Gardiner had taken pity on the young man, struggling to make a living while taking care of his mother. As months went by, however, Elizabeth was less and less convinced that there was any truth to his tales of trial and tribulation. She'd spoken to Mrs. Wickham on several occasions, and even met her once. The woman seemed a timid, kindly sort of creature – nothing like the surly, half-crazy drunk her son painted her to be. Besides, Elizabeth was fairly sure George was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the day before.

"Come on, Lizzy," he crooned in what he hoped was a persuasive tone. "I'll make it up to you. Here," he said, ushering her away from the counter and taking her place behind it. "You go have a nice, long lunch with your sister, and I'll hold the fort here."

"I'm not seeing Jane for lunch today. We're having dinner later."

"But didn't you just have dinner with her yesterday?"

Like she could forget. She hadn't gone on another date with George, but it was not because he hadn't asked. And when Elizabeth had not caved, George had come up with a different tactic – namely, ingratiating himself with Elizabeth's family. On that first date with George, Elizabeth had quickly discovered that there was a littleness to him which she hadn't previously noticed. After the topic of Will Darcy had been opened, George had been unable to let it go. For two whole hours Elizabeth had sat in the pub with him, listening to his seemingly endless tales of the sufferings he'd endured at the hands of Will Darcy, until finally, she'd had enough. She hadn't known what to think of Will Darcy, but she _had_ known what to think of George Wickham – for a grown man to blame other people for every single setback he'd ever encountered in his life seemed pitiful and small-minded.

Elizabeth's mother, however, had begged to disagree. All it had taken were a few flirtatious remarks and careful hints of the woes life had supposedly thrown his way, and George Wickham had suddenly become Fanny Bennet's new best friend. And a permanent fixture at the Sunday dinner table. As far as Mrs. Bennet was concerned, her daughter and George Wickham were an item, and no amount of protests from Elizabeth could persuade her otherwise.

"It's not a family dinner today. I'm meeting Jane and Charles and some friend of his."

"Oh," George said, clearly disappointed that Elizabeth's mother wasn't involved, and that he was therefore unlikely to be able to invite himself along. Then, something seemed to occur to him, and he threw a shrewd glance towards Elizabeth.

"That friend of his wouldn't happen to be Darcy, would it?"

"No," she replied. A big, fat lie.

"Oh, good. You do remember what I told you about him, don't you?"

Of course, she did.

:-:

Around three, Will parked his car in front of Charles's house but opted against going in. He knew for a fact that Charles was at work and didn't want to risk running into Caroline. He only hoped she hadn't been in any window to see him arrive. He looked at the house and noticed a new, rather pompous-looking wrought iron gate had been added since his last visit. Probably Caroline's doing, he decided, taking in the arch that reached over the gate and the elaborate gold lettering on it. _Netherfield._ Only Caroline Bingley could be pretentious enough to name a house that had been built in the 1980's. He snickered at the thought, but stopped short when he realized that technically, he himself was now the owner of another house, built just a few years earlier than the monstrosity the Bingley's lived in, with just as pretentious a name, if not more so. _Pemberley_.

As he walked towards the city centre, he wondered what he should do with the house. His father had obviously expected him to live in it, but the idea held little appeal to Will. He had no objections to the house itself – there was a reason it had made the cover of _The Architectural Review_ three times. It was the memories attached to the house that he resented. His father's face as he'd told Will that he was to be sent to a boarding school. Boy had he hated that place. Summer holidays spent idling with George Wickham – supposedly the best days of his childhood, now tainted with the memory of what had happened later. Georgiana's troubles. The death of his mother. Sitting at a dinner table with his father and Georgiana on Christmas Eve, the clinkety-clank of the cutlery the only thing to break the oppressive silence. No, he did not wish to live at Pemberley. The mere thought made him shudder.

As he reached Market Street, he put his hand in his pocket and felt the crumpled piece of paper at the bottom of it. He didn't take it out, for he knew exactly what it said. _Extensive Reading Co., Oakham Alley, Meryton._ He'd googled it the day after Bell had called him. That is, the day after Bell had called him; and he, the bloody idiot that he was, had as good as told her to go to hell.

He'd been on his way to the funeral, miserable, angry as hell, when his mobile had rung. Just that morning, Katrina and Anne Bergstein had suddenly showed up behind the door of the London house with two big suitcases in tow. They had meant well, he knew that. At least Anne had. Katrina had made a long speech about how he and Georgiana shouldn't have to be alone at a time like that, and then clucked around him like a mother hen all morning, grating on his already frayed nerves. When he'd seen that the call was coming from a strange number, he'd had half a mind not to answer it at all. He now very much wished that he hadn't.

"_Hello, is this Will Darcy?"_ a female voice had said, uncertain, quivering, but strangely familiar.

"_Yes."_

There had been a short pause, and he'd been just about to ask if the woman was still there, when she'd continued:

"_I, eh, I was wondering if I could have moment of your time?"_

And then, quite irrationally, he had snapped. She was trying to sell him something! His father was dead and he was on his way to his bloody funeral, and here was this stuttering bloody telesales woman trying to sell him something!

"_Look, lady"_ he'd spat in the phone, suddenly blind with rage towards the unknown person daring to interrupt the most miserable day of his life. _"I don't know where you got this number, and frankly, I don't give a crap. Don't ever bloody call it again, understood?"_

He'd hung up without giving her a chance to answer. His rage gone as soon as it had appeared, he'd sat still for a good five minutes, staring at the phone blankly, amazed at his unexpected loss of temper. What had he been thinking, yelling at a stranger like that? It was hardly her fault that his father was dead. And then, it had hit him. He _knew_ that voice. And it didn't belong to any blasted telesales woman. In a haze, his fingers fumbling, he had dialed the number she'd called from. His heart in his throat, he had waited for her to pick up. But instead, an elderly male voice had answered his call:

"_Extensive Reading Company, how may I help you?"_

He'd muttered an apology, claiming to have called the wrong number, and hung up. The next day, he had googled the name of the company and discovered that it was a bookshop in Meryton. In the ungodly mess that his life had turned into, it had seemed like a thing worth holding on to. _As soon_, he'd said to himself, _as soon as he got his life back in order, he would go back to Meryton and find that bookshop._ _Find her, and see if she would still have him. _And now, finally, he was there.

He checked his watch; it was half past three. He'd promised to meet Charles at his office at four. Why had he agreed to go to that stupid dinner today? Sure, it was great to see Charles again, but he had no great craving for Jane Bennet's company. And apparently she was bringing her sister, too. To him, the whole thing smelled a lot like a double date, and he was really in no humour at present to entertain some insipid girl who had trouble finding a date.

Reluctantly, he decided that his quest to find Bell would have to wait for one more day. But it wouldn't hurt just to take a quick peek at the shop before he left to see Charles, would it? She might not even be there, so there really would be no harm in it. He thought it likely that she worked there, why else would she have used the phone there? But perhaps she had a day off? As soon as he reached the address written on the piece of paper in his pocket, he knew he was right. She _definitely_ worked there. The quaint little shop that occupied the ground floor of an old, narrow, three-storey building hidden on a little alley just off Market Street, had _Bell_ written all over it. Unable to resist the urge to see if she was inside, he went closer and looked through the large, paned window in the front. The walls, as well as most of the floor space, were covered by bookshelves of different heights. Piles of books stood on every available surface, including the counter in the corner, which he saw was unoccupied.

He stood there for several minutes, imagining her, busy between the shelves, standing behind the counter, chatting with the customers, or sitting in one of the stuffed armchairs by the counter, now occupied by an elderly couple, engrossed in a good book. How had he missed finding this place when he lived in Meryton? He could easily imagine spending endless hours there, browsing through the books. Talking to her, finding out what her favourites were...

Suddenly, his musings were interrupted as he realized that, on the other side of the window, someone was staring at him. As he took in the large, brown eyes looking at him inquisitively, he felt his heart stop for a moment.

:-:

At two o'clock, Elizabeth was getting ready to go home. At the door, she threw one last suspicious glance towards George and her sister Lydia, chatting by the counter. Lydia, just turned seventeen, had spent the last two Sunday dinners flirting blatantly with George and, though he had seemed mostly to ignore her, Elizabeth felt a little uneasy about leaving the two alone for the evening. Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought that had entered her head. Lydia's sudden interest in working at the shop no doubt had everything to do with the fact that she'd found out that George worked there. But surely George Wickham, at twenty-nine, would have better things to do than to flirt with a seventeen-year-old?

By the time Elizabeth reached her flat, all thoughts of George Wickam and her sister had escaped her head, and all she could think of was the dinner to come. _Will Darcy_. It was too late for anything to happen now; the second time she'd phoned him had been enough to prove that. But still, when Jane had asked if she'd like to come to dinner with them, she'd been unable to say no. She desperately wanted to see him, to find out if he was still the Will she had met on the night of Caroline's party, or if, after all, there was some truth to what Wickham had told her.

It had certainly seemed that way, the first time she had called him. After discovering his identity, it had not taken her long to find out his phone number, too. It had, however, taken her a full week to gather up enough courage to pick up the phone. And when she finally had called him, alone in the shop on a Saturday morning, having stared at the phone for several hours, what had he said? _Don't ever bloody call me again._ When her uncle had arrived a few minutes later and found her standing there, the receiver still in her hand, her face a whiter shade of pale, she had rushed out of the shop in tears, not offering him any explanation.

And then, a few days later, Jane had mentioned that Will's father had died a short while ago and that Will had returned home to bury him. Elizabeth had lost a father. And, though she remembered Will's telling her that he wasn't close to his father, she could easily imagine the pain he was in. Surely, it was reason enough for him to have been so rude to her earlier. Perhaps he hadn't even recognized her at all? So she had called again. If for nothing else than to tell him how very sorry she was for his loss. The idea of his being in pain had made her cry once over. But he hadn't answered. Instead, she'd heard the haughty voice of an elderly woman with a strange accent, telling her that Will was unable to come to the phone as he was busy cooking dinner with his fiancée. She had shut the phone and keeled over on the floor of her flat. _His fiancée_.

:-:

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's _not_ a date!"

"So you keep saying," Will grumbled, as he and Charles neared the restaurant. He was not in the best of moods, still angry at himself for having gawked at the strange girl in the window of the bookshop earlier like some bloody lunatic. A split second had been enough for him to determine that the girl in the window had not been Bell. But, goddamned, those eyes had looked similar at a first glance.

"Seriously, it's not. I'm sure you have better things to occupy your mind these days than dating."

"And does she also know it's not a date?" Will asked, suspiciously.

Charles laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh, even if it was at his expense. For weeks, everyone had walked around him on tiptoes. It was good to be laughed at, for a change.

"She does. Actually, I don't think she's even available; she has something going on with George Wickham. You remember Wickham, don't you?"

Will stopped in his tracks. "Wait a minute! You're taking me to have dinner with George Wickham's _girlfriend_?"

Inside the restaurant, Elizabeth sat in the table, fidgeting. The boys were late. She'd been unable to hide her nervousness from Jane, and her sister had mistakenly thought that she was upset because she didn't want to meet Will.

"Look," Jane said suddenly, gesturing towards the window. "There they are now. Be nice, Lizzy."

Elizabeth didn't reply, and refused to turn towards the window, her heart suddenly beating a million beats a minute. Had she turned, she would've seen Charles tugging a reluctant, scowling Will across the street. When she heard the approaching footfalls behind her, and saw Jane's face light up in a smile at the sight of Charles, she felt faint. Jane stood up to greet the boys but Elizabeth just sat, rooted to the spot, unable to so much as to turn her head.

"Great to meet you again, Darcy," Jane said, and Elizabeth shivered as she heard the low, even voice reply:

"Please, call me Will. Everyone does, save Charles here."

Jane smiled. "Very well. Will, I'd like you to meet my sister, Elizabeth."

With something akin to a grimace on his face, Will turned towards Elizabeth, a cold, formal greeting just waiting to drop from his lips. _George Wickham's girlfriend_. And then, time stopped. If it was the slender arc of her neck, or the careless wisps of dark hair that had escaped from her bun that gave her away, he could not tell. But long before she had turned to face him, he knew for certain that it was _her._ Bell. Elizabeth Bennet.

A blush crept up her cheeks as she looked at him, his eyes intense on hers, his mouth slightly open, as if he'd been about to say something, and then forgot what it was before it was out of his mouth. For a mad moment, she thought she might reach out to him, crush him against her, inhale the scent that haunted her dreams. And then, she remembered that he was engaged. So instead she offered him her hand and a shy smile.

"Will," she said, hearing the tremble of her own voice. "I'm... It's so good to see you again."

"You've met?" Jane asked, incredulous to see the unfamiliar, soft expression on her sister's face.

For a long moment, there was no answer. And then, the spell was broken by Will's voice, unexpectedly cold and dismissive:

"We have. Briefly."

Elizabeth recoiled from his words, much as if he'd slapped her across the face. _Briefly?_ How could he say such a thing? Was he angry with her? Or had that night really meant nothing to him? She tried to search his eyes again, but he seemed determined to look everywhere but at her.

The dinner was a strange affair. Will barely got a word out of his mouth, his brooding gaze fixed on a small smudge on the tablecloth, thoughts whirling around in his head at a dizzying speed. She was there. There. Right across the table from him. So fucking beautiful. George Wickham's girlfriend. Shit.

Could it be a mistake? He had a hard time imagining what a girl like her could possibly have to do with George-bloody-Wickham. But Charles had said that she was his girlfriend, hadn't he? Or no, not exactly. He'd said that she had _something_ going on with Wickham. He swallowed hard, as the images of what that something could be flashed unbidden through his head. It was too much, he couldn't believe it.

A foul taste rose in his mouth as he remembered that evening some two months ago. The most perfect evening of his life. Had she known all along who he was? Had she gone home to Wickham the next morning, sharing a laugh at his expense? On some level, he knew it was a ridiculous thought, yet he could not help it. The mere idea of her anywhere near that scoundrel made his stomach turn over and his chest tighten with jealous anger. The Bell he knew would never have anything to do with the likes of George Wickham. The Bell he thought he knew.

Elizabeth couldn't keep her eyes off him. And the darker his scowl became, the tighter the knot in her chest constricted. Obviously, he wasn't glad to see her. On the contrary, he seemed pissed. Furious. Save for a few quick words for the waiter, he hadn't said a thing since they'd sat down.

And then, it happened. Trying to turn her attention away from him, she turned to hear what Charles was saying, and reached her hand toward the water decanter in the middle of the table. For the shortest of moments, she felt her hand touch something warm and soft instead of the cool surface of the decanter. Turning her head, she saw Will's hand, underneath hers, his eyes suddenly fixed on hers, in them an unreadable look that seemed to bore a hole right through her. As if from a distance, she heard Charles's words:

"So, Lizzy, did you see George today?"

Before she could understand what had happened, he had snatched his hand away, as if it had been burned, and the decanter lay fallen, water spilling across the table. Hastily, she reached to lift it up, words stammering out of her mouth.

"Shit. Shit. I'm sorry."

Jane probably said that it was alright. Quite likely, Charles seconded the sentiment. But all Elizabeth could hear were the five, angry words Will muttered under his breath.

_And so you should be._

Unable to stop the tears welling in her eyes, she rose up suddenly, almost knocking over her chair, and rushed towards the ladies' room. Lunging into the first booth, she slammed the door closed and sat on the toilet seat, cursing, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Idiot! Bloody-fucking-idiot! What a colossal fool she had been, hoping against hope that he would be glad to see her. She'd lied about her name, left him in the morning. He'd gone off to Austria, met some girl, got engaged. Hell, maybe he'd been engaged before he even left! And she, the biggest freaking moron the world ever saw, had sat here for months, pining after something that wasn't.

Elizabeth heard the sound of the door opening and someone stepping in.

"Elizabeth? Are you okay?"

Jane. Elizabeth said nothing.

"Lizzy, please. It's okay. It was just water."

Still, nothing.

"Lizzy, what's the matter? You've been acting strange all evening, is everything alright?"

Elizabeth sighed. No. Nothing was alright. She was acting like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door of the booth open.

"Give me a tissue?"

Jane smiled and dug one from her purse. Elizabeth dabbed her eyes dry, and sneezed for good measure.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me."

Jane eyed her skeptically. "You sure about that?"

"No," she replied, with a weak smile. "But let's go back, anyway. We wouldn't want Will to think that his best friend's girlfriend comes from a family of nutcases, would we?"

With a laugh, Jane gave her sister a hug. "You know, I don't think it matters what he thinks of you. As soon as he meets mum and Lydia, the game will be over anyway."

Determined, Elizabeth headed back towards the table with Jane in tow. She'd been childish. If Will was mad at her, they could talk about it. Maybe he didn't want her. Maybe it had been just a one night stand for him. But she couldn't bear the thought of him, thinking ill of her. If nothing else, maybe they could be friends.

Just before they reached the table, however, she was stopped short when she heard his voice, full of contempt as he replied to something Charles had asked:

"Pretty? Elizabeth? She's tolerable, I suppose, but hardly anything I'd want to waste my time on. And that sister of hers, I think you'd be better off without her. I don't trust her."

White, hot rage shot through Elizabeth as she took in his words. Tolerable? Hardly anything he'd want to waste his time on? Bloody hand-holding, Chandler-reading bastard! For once, George Wickham had been right!

She might've thought better of him, had she heard the last words that came out of his mouth, bitter and miserable, heartbreak written all over them.

_One of these days you're going to wake up, and she'll have left you with a post-it._

But she didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

_Soooo, I have good news and bad news. The good news is the chapter posted underneath, hope you like it:) The bad news is that I'm going to be away from home for two weeks, so it might be a while before the next update, my apologies! Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting, and extra special thanks to my betas Matt and Gayle, all remaining mistakes are mine:)_

**Day 5**

_Thursday, August 27__th__ 2009_

Elizabeth stood behind the counter at Extensive Reading Co., trying to decide what books to order while glancing every now and then at their new employee who was busy dusting the shelves. Well, she was definitely more hardworking than George Wickham – that man wouldn't have been caught dead handling a duster. And she seemed to know a thing or two about books, too, which was more than one could say about George. For the umpteenth time Elizabeth wondered how she could've been so duped by George in the beginning. She, who prided herself in being such a good judge of character. She had actually been relieved when Ed had come to her one day some three weeks ago, telling her that he'd noticed that small amounts of money went missing from the register on a regular basis. It had not taken much looking into to find out that this only happened on the days when George was working. They'd let him go on the spot, and he hadn't shown his face there since.

Elizabeth smiled as she heard the new employee humming while she worked. She was glad to see that the girl seemed happier now than she had been when Elizabeth had first met her. She was glad, too, that her uncle had convinced her to hire the girl, despite her misgivings. Just because she didn't know what to think of one member of the family, didn't mean that she couldn't like the other, did it?

An excited squeal was heard from behind the shelves that stored the second hand books.

"Found another treasure?" Elizabeth asked, amused.

A smiling head popped up from between the shelves. "You have the entire Peter Rabbit series! We used to have these at home, this exact same edition I think, but I haven't seen them in years!"

Elizabeth smiled. She'd loved those little white books as a child. "Mr. Phillips brought those last week. His wife had been cleaning the attic and had threatened to throw those away, and he was hoping that they'd find a home here."

"Throw them away? That's awful! Who could be cold-hearted enough to toss Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and Squirrel Nutkin in the bin?"

"Mrs. Phillips, apparently. But I think Squirrel Nutkin might have deserved just such a fate, the impertinent thing that he was."

"I think I'm going to have to buy these. God, at the rate I'm going, I'm going to be bringing more money into this shop than I'm taking out of it."

"Yet another thing that makes you different from your predecessor..." Elizabeth mumbled to herself, and then, a thought struck her. "You know? I think you should have them. It seems to me you would give them just the sort of happy home Mr. Phillips was hoping for."

The girl's eyes widened with excitement. "Really?"

"Sure. Consider it a welcome gift."

"Thank you, Lizzy! Oh, I can't wait to tell my brother; he'll love these! I used to make him read them to me over and over when we were younger!"

Elizabeth tried to keep her smile in place. The brother. What the hell was she going to do about him?

"You're welcome, Georgiana. Ed and I are so happy to have you work here."

:-:

Will sat behind his desk, leaning his head on one hand, staring into distance. Anyone looking at him might have thought that he was contemplating the drawing in front of him, but in truth, his mind was miles away from anything work-related. Or, at least, anything related to _his_ work. Instead, Will was thinking about his sister. And his sister's new employer.

_Bell_. He sighed. He still couldn't think about her as anything other than that. Not even after the disaster at the restaurant. God, what an idiot he'd been. He'd been so upset at the idea that Bell was dating Wickham, so offended when he thought that his night with Bell – his special, amazing night with her – had meant something else to her entirely. But above all, so disappointed that she seemed to have moved on. For two months before that day, he had thought of nothing but her – and she, meanwhile, had been dating George Wickham. And so, he'd simply lost it. With disastrous consequences.

It had taken him a full week to realize what an utter arse he'd been. A full week, three miserable lunches with a moping Bingley – and one visit to Extensive Reading Co.

He'd been driving home from London one evening, exhausted after a long day of going through his father's things at his office and trying to decide what to do with the company. Should he sell his shares to the other shareholders – who, while polite, had not necessarily seemed overly excited when Will had showed up at the offices after the passing of his father – or should he try to do what his father had hoped he would? So far, he was undecided, which is why he kept driving back and forth between Meryton and London more often than he cared to count. And on one such evening, he'd found himself taking a detour through Market Street, his car stopping at the corner of Oakham Alley, as if of its own volition.

He'd chastised himself for acting like a creepy stalker, but had nevertheless found himself standing at the window of Extensive Reading Co. once again. And, after observing that Bell had seemed not to be working that night, his feet had carried him inside the shop before his brain had been able to stop them. It had felt like a strange kind of torture, walking between the shelves she owned, browsing through books she'd touched. On a shelf by the counter he'd noticed a stack of Raymond Chandler's _The Simple Art of Murder_, with handwritten notes between each copy. _Staff Recommendation_.

Not knowing what he'd wanted to achieve, he'd lifted a copy from the pile and showed it to the man behind the counter, who had greeted him when he came in.

"_So this is good, huh?"_

The man had looked up from a pile of papers, seeming a little distracted. He'd looked at the book in Will's hand, and then given him a sheepish smile.

"_Don't know, to be honest. Never much cared for detective stories, even the classic ones. My niece put those there."_

"_Bel... Elizabeth?"_ he'd blurted in reply, before thinking of the consequences.

At this, the man had become more alert, and Will had instantly regretted opening his mouth.

"_Yes. Do you know her?"_

"_A little," _Will had stammered, his cheeks feeling hot all of a sudden.

"_Well,"_ the man had smiled, _"then you probably know that she has excellent taste in books. If she's chosen to recommend that one, it must be good."_

The man had looked at Will expectantly, and he had stood stupidly for a moment, the book in his hand, unsure of what to do with it. He had a copy of it at home, obviously. But then, that one didn't have a note handwritten by Bell in between the pages. Finally, he'd placed it on the counter.

"_I'll take it then."_

The man had smiled again, and moved to take the recommendation note away.

"_Please, don't!"_ Will had exclaimed loudly, and this time, as the man had turned his inquisitive eyes to him again, he had definitely blushed. _"I- - I mean, if you could please leave it there. I could really use a bookmark."_ Stuttering fool.

The man had looked at him suspiciously, no doubt wondering about his sudden exclamation; and to distract him, Will had inclined his head towards the stack of papers on the counter. _"Hiring new people?"_

"_Oh, yes, I was just going through these old applications. We're in a bit of a rush, actually, had to let someone go just this morning. A real reprobate, that Wickham, stole money from the register..."_ the man had grumbled, and then suddenly shut his mouth, as if realizing he'd said too much.

He'd had to ask. _"Wickham? George Wickham?"_

The man hadn't replied, but Will had already known the answer to his question. So Wickham had worked there. And had apparently been up to his old tricks again. All at once, he'd felt elated at the thought that Wickham's true character had been revealed to Bell, and sorry for her to have fallen victim of the scoundrel. He'd wondered how she had taken the news of Wickham's treachery, and felt a sudden urge to comfort her.

"_I know a thing or two about dishonest employees, sir, I'm sorry you were deceived by one. Elizabeth must have been very upset, I understand that they were close?"_

He'd tried to sound as disinterested as possible, and had been startled when the man had unexpectedly chuckled at him.

"_Upset? Elizabeth? Hardly. I don't think she liked the poor sod at all, to be honest. They went on a date once, I think, but nothing ever came out of it. But look at me; I've suddenly turned into a worse gossip than my sister. Would you like a bag for your book?"_

Will had nodded, stunned, and left the shop as soon as he'd paid for his purchase. He'd sat in his car for a good twenty minutes before he'd calmed down enough to drive home. _They went on a date once, but nothing ever came out of it?_ What the hell had that meant?

"You look pensive," Richard said, as he entered Will's office and startled him out of his reveries. "Thinking about your father again?"

"What? No, no. I was thinking about Georgie's new workplace, actually." It wasn't a lie, technically speaking.

"Oh, that bookshop? How does she like it there? I was kind of surprised that you let her do this, you know."

"I know. But she was so miserable, I had to do something. Missing a year of uni is hardly the end of the world; she can always go back next year. You want to grab some lunch?"

"Sure. But at the pub, okay? I can't stand that health-soup joint you're always dragging us to these days."

"Fine," Will grumbled. "The pub it is."

:-:

After work, Elizabeth and Georgiana headed to Jane's flat. Jane had promised to cook for Elizabeth and Charlotte, and Elizabeth, hoping to help Georgiana to feel more at home in Meryton, had asked her to come along. She liked Georgiana. Underneath the shy exterior lay the same warmth, the same lovely sense of humour she'd thought she'd discovered in Will. _Will._ She didn't know what to think of him. For someone who found her tolerable at best, and didn't want to waste time on her, he'd spent an inordinate amount of time hanging around the shop lately. _And_ Joe's. How many times in the past couple of weeks had she run into him at lunchtime? Had he always come there, and had she just not noticed him before? Or was this a new habit? Even Mr. Wong's didn't seem to be safe anymore – she'd bumped into him there twice in the past month. She really needed to start eating something besides Chinese food.

At first, she'd thought he frequented the shop because he didn't like the idea of his sister working there, and wanted to find fault with the place. Then, she'd learned that he'd been the one to suggest that Georgiana apply there in the first place. Unfathomable. And recently, after a few weeks of stiff, polite nods and hellos, and ogling her whenever he thought she wasn't looking, he'd actually started to talk to her again. At first, it had been little things, casual remarks about the weather and other such things, as if they were passing acquaintances and nothing had ever happened between them – not the night, not the row. She'd been pissed beyond words, giving him monosyllabic answers at best. Then, a few days ago, she'd been having lunch alone at Joe's, and had nearly spilled her soup when quite unexpectedly, she'd heard the familiar, low voice:

"_Is this seat taken?"_

She'd eyed him for a moment, wondering what the hell he was up to. It was still early, and there were several empty tables around them. Finally, she'd relented under his steadfast gaze.

"_No."_

For the longest time, he'd just sat there, silent, spooning his soup, not looking at her. Exasperated, she'd wondered if it was some twisted game he was playing.

"_You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy? Because I can tell you right now that it's not working."_

He'd looked up then, surprised, as if he'd forgot that she was there. _"Please, call me Will."_

"_I'd rather not,"_ she'd spat. Whatever the game was, she wouldn't be playing.

"_Bell..."_ His voice had been pleading, his bloody enchanting eyes fixed on hers.

"_Don't call me that."_ She'd tried to sound spiteful, but no doubt failed miserably. Damn those eyes.

"_Please, there's something I wish to tell you. Will you hear me?"_

She'd nodded, crossing her arms across her chest.

"_I- - I wanted to thank you for hiring Georgiana. It was very kind of you."_

She'd been astonished. That was it? That's what he'd wanted to talk about? Her voice had been cold when she'd replied:

"_No need to thank me, Mr. Darcy. I didn't do it for your sake."_

He'd blushed then, stammering a little as he'd replied:

"_N-no. Of course not."_

She'd got up, swallowing tears, having foolishly expected that he might wish to talk to her because he wanted to apologize.

"_Well, if that's all, I'll be going then. Need to get back to the shop." _And then, unable to help herself, she'd added: _"I've already wasted enough of my time on you."_

He'd looked like she'd slapped him, and she'd quickly turned around and walked out of the door. She'd been just outside the bookshop, when suddenly she'd heard someone behind her, turned around, and nearly stumbled into a breathless Will. He'd run after her.

"_Please, Bell... Elizabeth,"_ he'd panted, catching his breath. _"Please wait. There's more. I- I owe you an apology. That day at the restaurant, I was unforgivably rude, and with no good reason. I- - well, it really is no excuse, but I was mad at you."_

She'd been incredulous. _"Mad at me?"_

He'd given her a hesitant, embarrassed smile. _"Quite mad, I'm afraid. Jealous, actually. I thought you were dating George Wickham."_

She'd been stunned. Jealous? Unfortunately, her uncle had chosen that moment to open the door of the shop and call for her:

"_Lizzy? Are you coming? Mrs. Long is quite insistent that you're the only one who can help her!"_

She'd looked at Will, hesitantly.

"_I have to go."_

He'd looked a little sad._ "Okay."_

Reluctantly, she'd turned to leave. Jealous? What the hell did he mean, jealous? At the door, she'd turned around. He'd been standing where she'd left him, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking at her.

"_I'm not, you know,"_ she'd called.

"_Not what?"_

"_Dating George Wickham."_

His eyes had been serious. _"I know."_

She hadn't seen him since.

:-:

In the evening, Will lay on his couch, watching the ceiling. There were countless tiny holes in the paint, and he wondered if he should have it repainted. Then again, maybe not. He liked the little imperfections of old houses, the little quirks they had. To him, that was what made them interesting.

Wandering to the kitchen, he opened the fridge. Empty. Living with Georgiana had done nothing to improve his cooking habits. It felt strange to have her around again – strange and strangely pleasing. When she'd called him, shortly after he left London, to ask if she could come live with him, he'd been hesitant. He knew their father would've disapproved of her taking a year off school. But then, it had been _because_ of their father that she had wanted to do it. It had hit her hard to lose another parent, much harder than him. She had been miserable. So, Will had thought, if it would make her happy again to live with her brother, the only family she had left, then to hell with uni. She could always go back later.

But he had not expected that he, too, would like having her around so much. It felt comforting not to be alone. He felt a pang of jealousy, as he thought about his sister and her plans for the evening. He wondered if Jane Bennet was a good cook. Probably. If Charles was to be believed, she excelled in anything she did. Will felt ashamed, remembering his words at the restaurant. How could he have said such a thing about Jane Bennet? He didn't even know Jane Bennet! For a week afterwards, Charles had been grumpy around him, half mad at him for causing such a scene, half afraid that there was some truth to what Will had said. It had taken a lot of apologizing on Will's part – and a lot of convincing – to make Charles believe that his friend really had no real reason to doubt Jane's trustworthiness, and that the girl was probably as much in love with Charles as she'd ever been. Will had been mortified. Charles had always trusted his judgment, and often asked for his advice; and then he had, in a fit of anger, misused that trust in a most abominable manner.

His morose thoughts were interrupted, when his mobile rang. Anne Bergstein.

"Hello, Austria."

"Good evening, Britain. Just calling to check that everything's okay on that side of the Channel."

He smiled. "Thanks, Anne. We're hanging in here. Georgie's doing much better. It was good of you to stay with us after the funeral; I don't know if I ever thanked you properly."

"Thanked me for staying, or thanked me for sending my mother home so soon?"

Will laughed. "Both, I guess."

"Well, you're welcome. You should know, though, I think my mother is under the delusion that you and I have some sort of an understanding between us."

Will's laughter stopped short. "What?"

"Oh yes, she's been asking me all sorts of strange questions about my stay there. And she keeps asking when I'm going to see you again."

"And what did you tell her?" Will asked, suddenly uncomfortable. No wonder Katrina Bergstein had been so insistent that Anne stay with them.

"Nothing at all. She'll get over it soon enough, I'm sure."

"Right. And how's the project?"

"Oh, well enough. Mother's in talks with some Swedish firm that has experience in these sorts of things. Although I think that she's still holding out hope that you'll decide to give up Darcy Ltd. and come back here."

"Well, you can tell her that that's not going to happen," he blurted, rather more sternly than he'd intended.

"Really enjoyed your stay here, then?" Anne asked, and Will instantly realized that he'd offended her.

"I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all. It's just that, well, I still haven't decided what to do with the company. And I have Georgie living with me now. And..." he stopped short, unsure of what he'd been about to say.

"And?"

"And nothing. That's it. The company and Georgie. I can't leave Meryton right now."

"You're sure that's all?"

What was she, psychic? Will was sure he'd never mentioned anything about Bell to her.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why?"

"Oh," said Anne, nonchalantly. "Just thinking. Mother told me the other day that some girl had tried to call you when we were there. But I guess it was just some telesales person or something."

A cold shiver ran up Will's spine. "What girl?"

"I don't know. Some girl. Mother said she'd answered your phone, and told her that you couldn't come to the phone because you were busy cooking with me. Can you believe her? I told her that she had no business taking other people's phone calls, and she had the audacity to say that..."

But Will was no longer listening. Had Bell called again? And had Katrina Bergstein insinuated that he was seeing Anne? That old bat!

:-:

"Oh God, I'm still stuffed!" Elizabeth groaned, reclining on Jane's couch, rubbing her aching stomach.

"I know," Georgiana giggled from the bottom of an armchair. "I feel like I've eaten enough to last me for the rest of the week. Which is a good thing, I guess, since Brother is a hopeless cook."

"He is?"

"Oh yeah, quite useless. I think he should just find himself a wife who loves cooking, but he hasn't even dated anyone for ages. I don't know why, really; he's quite handsome, isn't he?"

Elizabeth looked at the other girl, her mouth gaping. Fortunately, she was saved from answering the question, when Jane entered the room, having heard the conversation.

"Would you like me to pack some lasagna for you to take home to your brother? There's plenty of it left, since Char didn't come."

Jane Bennet, the angel. Sending food to the man who'd told her boyfriend that she wasn't to be trusted. Elizabeth sighed. For the past two days, she'd been trying to wrap her mind around the things he'd said to her, outside the bookshop. How could he be jealous of her dating someone else, if he himself was engaged to be married? And did it really entitle him to act the way he'd acted in the restaurant? And now Georgiana was saying that he hadn't dated anyone for ages. Was he not engaged, then, after all? Or had he just not told his sister?

When finally, half past eleven, Elizabeth and Georgiana made to leave, they noticed that it had started to rain. Undecided, the girls stood at the front door, looking at the downpour, until finally, Georgiana said:

"How about I call Will? I'm sure he's not asleep yet. He can be here in ten minutes, and we can drive you home, too?"

Elizabeth paled at the thought of spending any time in such close confines with him but couldn't think of any plausible reason to say no to Georgiana's plan. And so, some fifteen minutes later, she found herself sitting on the front seat of Will Darcy's car, giving him directions to her home, her heart beating a mile a minute. The whole car seemed infused with his damn delicious scent, and she sat ramrod straight, holding her breath, looking out of the window, resisting the urge to lean towards him. When they arrived at her street, she turned to say goodbye to Georgiana, only to notice that the girl was fast asleep on the backseat.

She felt Will's eyes on her, but didn't dare to look back at him, glad that it was dark so he couldn't see her blush.

"Well, goodnight, then," she said, her voice tight in her throat. "Thanks for giving me a lift."

For a moment, he said nothing. And then, just as she was turning to get out of the car, he spoke:

"Can I walk you to your door?"

She swallowed. "No- no need to. It's right over there, you see," she said, pointing to the door across the street. "You'll only get wet."

"Please?"

She turned to look at him then and was startled by the intensity of his gaze. "Oh, okay."

They walked the short way in silence, oblivious to the rain that was still pouring down on them. When they got to the door, she reached her hand to her bag to fish for her keys, not knowing what to say. When she turned the key in the lock, she suddenly felt his hand over hers, arresting her movement.

"Please, Bell," he breathed, and she shivered at the feel of his touch. "I have to know. Can you ever forgive me?"

Damn, he was standing too close. She couldn't think straight when he was standing so near! Finally, in an attempt to act rationally, she stammered: "I- I don't know, Will. I don't know. So much has happened since that night in your flat; I don't know what to think of it all. First you yell at me on the phone, then I hear that you're engaged, and now Georgiana tells me that you're not..." She stopped when she felt his hand brush her cheek.

"I'm not."

"No?" she asked, turning to look up at him, utterly distracted by his hand that was now pushing a wet, errant curl behind her ear. Had he just moved closer to her?

"No. How could I be, when all I can think of is you? You have no idea how much I wish that you'd stayed that morning three months ago."

"You do?" she whispered, trembling. He was definitely closer now.

"I do," he replied, his voice hoarse, leaning towards her. "Please tell me that you can forgive me for being such an abominable arse when we met again? I promise to spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you, if only you say you can forgive me."

She thought of this for a moment, feeling a strange flutter at the pit of her stomach at his words. _The rest of his days._ She wondered if he realized what he'd said. "Well," she whispered, reaching her hand behind his head, gently pulling him closer, until his face was so close that she could feel his breath on her face, quick and erratic. His eyes fluttered close as her lips touched his, gently, slowly brushing against them. He could hear the smile in her voice when she whispered, "I suppose I could consider it."

With that, she turned and opened the door, and quickly reached to touch his cheek before entering.

"Good night, Will Darcy."

Long after the door had closed and the light had gone out of the hallway, he stood in the rain, staring after her, his lips still tingling where hers had touched them, his heart hammering in his chest. A slow smile spread across his face as he turned to return to the car. Good enough. Good enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_author's note: here, finally, is chapter 6 of my story, i'm so sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. won't happen again, i promise:) a big, fat thank you to my beta, gayle, for keeping my grammar in good order. any remaining mistakes are mine:)_

_i was contemplating my rating, and decided to try and keep it T for the entirety of the story, to keep it easily available for everyone. for anyone over 18 and interested, i'm posting a slightly modified version at AHA with a rating a little higher than the one here. if you think this idea sucks, let me know in the comment thread and i'll take upping the rating here into consideration:)_

**Day 6**

_Sunday, September 27__th__ 2009_

He kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin, the indentation at the base of her throat. Her chest heaved underneath him, and he could feel the erratic beat of her pulse as his lips traveled behind her ear and down the line of her clavicle. His hands found the clasp of her bra, fumbling. A gasp escaped her lips as he removed the garment and continued his explorations. She was so soft. So beautiful. A perfect fit.

As his hands travelled down her body, he felt his own breathing become more and more laboured. He traced the contours of her hips lightly with his fingers, his lips following the path shown by his hands, lingering for a long moment on the hipbones, just above the waistline of her panties. He let his thumbs slip slightly under the thin fabric, tracing its edge, the mere idea of sliding it downwards making him lightheaded with wanting her. Bell...

Suddenly, he felt her nudge his side, and heard her giggle. _Giggle?_ Now, wait a minute, she wasn't supposed to giggle, was she? Oh no, definitely not a part of his plan for her. Another nudge, and Will woke up with a start. He was panting and sweaty, and his other hand had snuck underneath the t-shirt she was using as a nightshirt, pulling her more tightly against him, his morning glory pressing insistently against her buttocks. And she was giggling.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Sweet dreams, I gather?"

He could hear the laughter in her voice. Bloody embarrassing. He snuggled closer to her, but chastely pulled his hand from under her shirt, and let it rest on her stomach. Pressing a kiss on her shoulder, now also covered by the shirt that had been decidedly absent in his recent dream, he mumbled:

"I'm so sorry, Bell. I didn't mean to..."

Her giggle turned into full blown laughter.

"Don't worry about it. Besides, I'm sure your dream wasn't half as naughty as the one I was having."

She wiggled her bottom against him, and he growled. Bloody teasing minx! She shrieked when he suddenly flipped her over, pressed her tightly against his body and captured her lips in a bruising kiss. "See," he panted, when he finally found enough self-control to let go of her. "This is what you do to me. I can barely think straight when you're this close to me. Any more of that wiggling business, and I'll break the new deal so fast that you won't know what hit you."

_The new deal_. Why had he ever agreed to a new bloody deal with her? Hadn't they learned anything on the first time around?

This time, it had been her idea. They'd been on their first official date, a picnic in one of the little parks by the river. She'd promised to pack their lunch, and he'd laughed out loud when they'd spread their quilt and she had opened the cooler to reveal a few neatly packed cartons that said _Mr. Wong's_ on the side, and a few cans of Coke.

"_Sorry," _she'd said with a rueful smile. _"No beer. I thought soda would be more appropriate at this time of day."_

Not thinking, he'd reached to kiss her smiling mouth. For a moment, it had seemed like the most natural thing; like something he did every day. In no time, her hands had been in his hair, his on her back, molding her against him. Soon, however, he'd felt her stiffen, her lips stopping their movement. Reluctantly, he'd pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged.

"_I- - I'm sorry. I got carried away..."_

"_...as did I. Listen, I think we need a new deal."_

"_A new deal?"_ He'd blanched at the thought, remembering only too well the terms of the old deal. No kissing. It was twice now that he'd kissed her, his mind already full of anticipation for the third time. The mere idea of not being able to kiss her again had made him miserable. Fortunately, she'd been of a mind to agree.

"_Remember how we talked about taking it slow?"_

He'd nodded, gulping. He'd called her, the day after he'd driven her home from Jane's. He'd stayed up most of the previous night, too giddy, too restless to fall asleep. She'd forgiven him. Or at least promised to consider forgiving him. _And_ she'd kissed him. He'd replayed that small, precious moment in his mind for an embarrassing number of times. And so, the next morning, he'd called her to ask her out, unable to wait another minute. And she'd said yes. Under one condition: they needed to take it slow. He'd wholeheartedly agreed with her.

But now, he could not help but wonder. Exactly how slow was slow?

Elizabeth smiled as she felt him snuggle closer to her. _The new deal._ She had no doubt that the new deal would be unceremoniously discarded any day now. This was the fourth night she'd spent together with Will, and every time it got more difficult to concentrate on conversation rather than tearing his clothes off. She wanted him so much – too much, it felt sometimes. And she had little doubt of his feeling exactly the same way. But she was glad, still, that she had proposed the deal in the first place. There had been enough misunderstandings already. This time, she wanted to know him before giving him leave to take her heart and put it in his pocket. This time, there would be no misunderstandings. And hence, the new deal: No sex until they knew each other better. They would not be one of those couples who jumped into bed on their first date, and then, by the third, discovered that they had nothing in common.

"So, what do you want to do today?" she asked, sliding the back of her hand down his bare arm.

He pressed a kiss behind her ear, and his voice was but a low murmur when he replied, "Do you even have to ask?"

She giggled. "Let me rephrase. What do you want to do today that doesn't involve you and me spending the rest of the day in this bed?"

"Oh, we don't necessarily need the bed for what I have planned," he deadpanned. "The kitchen table will do just as well; I'm not that particular when it comes to these things..."

And then, without further ado, he suddenly got up and slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

"Will!" she screamed, as he headed towards the kitchen. "You tosser! Let me down this instant!"

"As you wish." Another swift move, and she felt her bottom hit the cool, smooth surface of the kitchen counter, her feet dangling over the rim. He stood between her legs, his arms around her, laughter rumbling in his chest. She laughed, too, reaching her hand to touch the little lines that formed in the corners of his eyes when he laughed. She felt the lines smooth under her fingertips as his laughter died down and his eyes, focused on hers, seemed to darken a shade or two.

"Bell..." he whispered as he leaned closer to her. She loved it when he called her that. Her hasty little lie turned into a private little caress whenever it rolled off his lips. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply as he leaned in to kiss her. And then, she burst out laughing.

"What?" he cried, impatient. Was she to start laughing every time he made a move on her? Granted, the first time he'd been sleeping, but it was hardly boosting his self-confidence to have her laugh every time he kissed her...

"I'm sorry..." she hiccupped between giggles. "It's... I'm just being silly."

"What is it?"

She looked up to him, her eyes full of mirth. "Well, love – " his heart did a little skip-and-hop when she called him that, and he wondered if she'd even noticed what she'd said, " – the thing is, you have a serious case of morning breath."

His brows shot up at her words, and his right hand flew to his mouth. He let out a little breath against his palm, and inhaled through his nose. Yikes. She was right. Definitely not a kissable smell.

"Don't move a muscle," he pleaded, dashing out of the room. Twenty seconds later he was back with two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste. She laughed.

"Couldn't we just have gone to the bathroom for this?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. In about one minute, we're going to continue exactly where we left off, and you're going to forget all this, and only remember how hot and bothered you were left when I carried you here and gave you an incredibly steamy kiss with a perfectly fresh mouth."

"Incredibly steamy, huh?" she asked, amused.

He gave her a smug smile. "You'll see."

Approximately three minutes, lots of laughing, and two sets of brushed teeth later, she was about to find out that he hadn't exaggerated. The way his lips were moving on her mouth, and then, later, on other places, she was swiftly forgetting all about his morning breath, the new deal, and about any other rational thought for that matter. His hands had just slipped under her shirt, traveling the length of her sides, his lips hot on her neck, when they heard the sound of a key rustling in a lock, and the front door opening.

"Morning!" Georgiana called loudly, no doubt by way of warning. They made fun of it sometimes, the way she stomped noisily around the flat these days, whenever Elizabeth was visiting, anxious to avoid walking in on them at an unsuitable moment. She seemed genuinely pleased about her brother's new relationship, already making less than subtle hints about how great it would be to have Elizabeth as her sister, and conniving ways to give them some privacy. Will and Elizabeth had not been surprised when, the previous day, she'd announced that she had plans with Jane and that they could have the flat all to themselves. But, both wondered, why was she home so early?

Elizabeth hopped off the counter and straightened her clothes just in time before Georgiana entered the kitchen. If she noticed Elizabeth's swollen lips or the fact that her brother was most definitely sulking because of the interruption, she certainly didn't mention it.

"I'm so sorry to barge in on you this early," she said apologetically. "But it really couldn't be helped."

"It's okay," Elizabeth smiled, ignoring the snort that came from the general direction of Will. "Really, we were just about to get some breakfast." At this point, Will muttered something that sounded a lot like _breakfast my bollocks_, and Elizabeth felt obligated to poke him with her elbow in a rather painful manner. Georgiana stood in the doorway, obviously hesitant.

"Look, if I'm interrupting something, I could just go to my room..."

Will seemed about to agree with the idea, until Elizabeth poked him again. And so, reluctantly, he grumbled:

"No, no. Please stay. We were just going to have some breakfast. Have you had any yet?"

His sister's face lightened up considerably at the prospect of having breakfast with her two favourite people, and he instantly regretted having been so grumpy.

"No," Georgiana smiled, enthusiastically. "Actually, I'm famished!"

"Famished?" Elizabeth asked, surprised. "Has something happened? Never in my life have I known my sister to let anyone out of her door before assuring they were completely stuffed!"

Elizabeth put the kettle on and searched the half-empty cupboards for some toast and jam, while Georgiana told them her tale of woe. It turned out to be dreadful indeed – Charles, in a moment of mind-boggling carelessness, had accidentally mentioned to his sister that Georgiana and Jane had planned a sleepover, and Caroline, as was her way, had instantly invited herself along, delighted with the idea of spending some quality time with _dear_ Jane and _darling_ Georgiana. Of course, neither dear Jane nor darling Georgiana had dared to tell her that they'd rather that she didn't come; and so they'd ended up spending the night listening to Caroline talk about herself and complain about Will's choice of girlfriend. In the morning, when Caroline had started to talk about brunch at Netherfield, and spending the entire day together, Jane had suddenly looked pointedly at the clock and exclaimed that Georgiana was going to be late for work.

"I'm not sure, but I think she whispered 'save yourself' when she pushed me out of the door!" Georgiana giggled.

"But we're not even open on Sundays!"

"I know! And so did Caroline Bingley, but Jane gave her one of her angelic smiles, and claimed that we're doing inventory. Can you believe it?"

Elizabeth most definitely could not, and both girls laughed at the idea of Jane, the paragon on all that was kind and honest, lying through her teeth to poor Caroline Bingley. Will, meanwhile, scowled again, having found a new target for his frustration.

_Leave it to Caroline Bingley to ruin his plans for a Sunday in bed with Bell._

_:-:  
_

Later, Will and Elizabeth were lounging on the sofa, reading, her head resting on his lap. In the next room, Georgiana was playing slow, bluesy tunes on the piano.

"She's really good," Elizabeth said, lifting her eyes from her book to look at him.

"Mhhmmm," Will agreed absentmindedly, not really having listened at all. He was having a hard time concentrating on anything besides her head on his lap. In the past hour, he'd managed to read no more than five pages; and, had anyone asked, he couldn't have told what was written on them even if his life depended on it. He knew there were other important things he should have been thinking about. He'd sold his father's company two weeks ago. Darcy Ltd. was Darcy Ltd. no longer; instead, it was called Andrews, Hamilton and Whatshisname. The Will Darcy of old, he knew, would have spent endless sleepless nights wondering if he'd made the right decision, giving up his father's legacy in favour of building his own. But in all honesty, he had not given the matter much thought once the decision had been made. His head was too full of _her_.

He still couldn't believe they were actually together. Every time she turned her smiling face towards him or took his hand in hers when they were walking on the street, he wondered at his good luck. He was happy. Disgustingly happy. Or just plain disgusting, if Richard was to be believed. But when had he ever believed anything Richard had to say?

He'd had girlfriends before, of course, though it had been a while. Nice, smart girls who could hold their own in a conversation. Girls he'd cared for. Girls like Anne Bergstein, who he sometimes thought the Will Darcy of old would have been likely to date. Not one of these girls had ever made him feel anything remotely like the feelings he had for Elizabeth. _Bell_. By the time they'd left the park on that day of their first date, he might as well have asked her to marry him. On some days, it scared him shitless just to think about it.

Oh God, did she just move her head?

Elizabeth shifted a little, snuggling closer to him, smiling to herself when she heard an almost imperceptible grunt escape his mouth. She was finding it impossible to concentrate on her book, and was glad to notice that he seemed to be suffering from the same problem. Bloody Caroline Bingley and her interfering ways. Without her, Georgiana might have been learning to cook lasagna with Jane at this very moment, and she and Will could have had the flat all to themselves. Why, oh why hadn't they just gone to her place instead?

Elizabeth knew why. She liked her flat, but Will's was so much roomier. And closer to Mr. Wong's. And, most importantly, it had the very significant added benefit of Fanny Bennet not knowing the address.

In the past month, she and Will had talked about almost everything. On their first date, they'd spent seven hours in the park, lying on the quilt, looking at the clouds, talking about everything that came to mind. They'd talked about the first time they met, the subsequent months spent missing each other, the misunderstandings that had conspired to keep them apart. He'd blushed in embarrassment when he'd tried to explain the jealous fit he'd thrown at the restaurant, and she'd teased him mercilessly, secretly a little pleased that he'd been so upset at the mere thought of her dating someone else. When he'd walked her home late in the evening, and kissed her goodbye, she'd felt something melt inside her. His hands in her hair, hers sneaking under his jacket, his lips warm and soft against hers, she'd felt sure she'd never kiss another man. It had been a happy thought.

By the time of their eighth date – the first time they'd spent the night together, after falling asleep on the sofa in the middle of a film – Elizabeth knew that Will missed his mother, and disliked poached eggs. She knew that when he was five, he'd wanted to be an astronaut, and that he had a big house in Derbyshire that he didn't want to sell, but didn't want to visit either. She knew that he'd seen _Casablanca_ sixteen times, that his favourite book was _One Hundred Years of Solitude_, and that he liked _Star Wars_ but hated Luke Skywalker with a passion. She knew that he felt guilty for not missing his father more.

Will, on the other hand, knew that Elizabeth's favourite colour was apple green, and that her father had taught her to read. He knew that Elizabeth voted Labour, that she thought that _Anna Karenina_ was the most overrated classic novel, and that when she was twelve, she and Charlotte Lucas had been caught smoking Mr. Lucas's cigars and been grounded for three weeks. He knew that she sometimes had imaginary conversations with her father, that she disliked it when people called her Eliza, and that she owned a mobile phone but never used it. He knew that when she was sixteen, her mother had slapped her, and though it had never happened again, she'd never quite forgiven her.

Her mother. Though Elizabeth had told Will most everything about her family, he'd never actually met them, save for Jane. Her mother had called her innumerable times since she'd discovered that Elizabeth was seeing someone. Her reasons for calling had varied from scolding (What could this new man possibly have that made him a better choice than _dear_ George?) to curious (Was he rich?) to simply preposterous (If Elizabeth wanted to keep him, she'd better not introduce him to Jane, because as soon as he saw Jane, he'd forget all about her plain sister.) Twice, she'd showed up at her flat unexpectedly, and while Elizabeth had prepared them tea, she'd snooped around the rooms for evidence of the elusive boyfriend. When, on the second time, she'd found a t-shirt of his thrown over the headboard of her bed, she'd spent the rest of her visit making casual remarks about how unwise it had been of her to let him stay over so early in the relationship, and even suggested that he was quite possibly just using her for sex – that would definitely explain his reluctance to meet her family.

Elizabeth had not bothered to set her mother straight, knowing that she probably wouldn't have believed her anyway. Years of experience had taught her that arguing with Fanny Bennet was useless. Besides, she didn't wish to share with her mother the tale of the afternoon when she and Will had been caught in the rain, and he had loaned her a dry t-shirt while her own had been in his tumble dryer. Her mother didn't need to know that she'd never returned the shirt because she liked to sleep in something that belonged to him. And her mother definitely didn't need to know that the reason he'd never met her family was not his reluctance to meet them, but rather her reluctance to introduce them.

But that night her mother would finally have her wish. Elizabeth was taking Will with her to Sunday dinner. She tried not to dwell on all of the possible things that could go wrong.

"Are you sure you want to go?" she asked, half hoping that he'd changed his mind.

He was leaning his head against the backrest, his eyes closed, and took a moment to reply. He wondered if she could hear from the gruffness of his voice that he'd been busy undressing her in his mind, his thoughts a thousand miles away from any impending family dinner.

"Yeah, absolutely," he replied, without much conviction. What he _really_ wanted to do at that very moment was to carry her to his bedroom, lock the door behind them, and throw away the key.

But alas, that would have to wait. For, despite his reluctance to leave the flat, he did want to meet and get to know Elizabeth's family. He had plans for her, after all. Big plans.

:-:

At ten thirty, a miserable Elizabeth sat at the foot of her bed, her knees hugged against her body, the t-shirt she was wearing stretched over them. His shirt. What the bloody hell had she been thinking, taking him to meet her family?

They'd arrived at her mother's house at quarter to seven, and by quarter past, she'd known that deciding to come had been a grievous mistake. She'd barely had time to introduce Will before her mother had pulled her aside, and whispered loudly: _"Oh my, Lizzy. He's not as good-looking as George, but he definitely looks richer!"_ Will, of course, had heard everything. On their way to the drawing room, her mother had continued to showcase her whispering abilities, telling Elizabeth that she'd advised Jane to wear as plain a dress as possible, so that she wouldn't catch William's attention; but that it was still pretty hopeless, for everyone knew how pretty Jane was compared to her sister. Will had looked at Mrs. Bennet, appalled.

From there, things had progressed steadily downhill.

Elizabeth couldn't quite decide what had been worse – the fact that Kitty had tried to flirt with Will at every turn, or the fact that Lydia, for some unfathomable reason, had been openly hostile towards him. Or the way her mother had constantly brought up George Wickham, as if she knew nothing of the fact that George had stolen from the bookshop and then vanished into thin air. Elizabeth had watched Will's deepening scowl with a growing desperation. She didn't know exactly the extent of Will's acquaintance with George, but she knew that Will didn't like him. He'd been a bit vague when they'd talked about the subject, only saying that he didn't think George ought to be trusted. To Elizabeth, it had been enough. She already knew, after all, the extent of George Wickham's trustworthiness. Unfortunately, her mother refused to see reason when it came to that man.

There really was no one quite like Fanny Bennet, Elizabeth thought, as she rocked back and forth on the bed, tears burning in the corners of her eyes. During the course of one meal, her mother had managed to give offense in so many ways that she still couldn't quite believe it. She'd called Extensive Reading Co. _a dusty, old hole,_ and implied that Elizabeth was only working there because she didn't have a proper education like Jane. A degree in literature apparently didn't constitute a proper degree in her mother's mind. When she'd learned that William's father had passed, she had, directly after offering her condolences in an offhand manner, asked about the size of his inheritance. Then, after receiving no reply, she'd gone on to remark how disappointed she'd been when she'd found out that her late husband had left his half of the bookshop to Elizabeth, who had then refused to sell the old dump, being the stubborn, unfeeling child that she was.

Jane had graciously tried to steer the conversation into safer waters, asking William about his work, and for a moment, Elizabeth had thought that the worst was over. Mary, a student at Meryton Uni, had been excited to hear that William was one of the architects involved in the renovations at the campus, and for a moment, a relatively lively conversation had ensued on the merits of restoring old instead of building new. But then, her mother had taken a sip from her wine glass, commented on how easy it must have been to develop a career with such a famous father, and asked Will if he made any money with his doodlings. Will had nearly choked on the piece of roast he'd been chewing.

An angry retort had been about to slip off Elizabeth's lips, but Jane had reached to touch her hand to calm her down. To argue with their mother would only goad her to continue. Jane had then made one more desperate attempt to save the evening by turning the conversation to her plans of travelling to France with Charles. But in the end, Elizabeth was sure that hearing her mother gush about the advantageous match she was fully expecting Jane to make had done nothing to recommend her family to Will either.

The coup de grâce had been delivered together with the dessert. Will had been sipping his coffee, his eyes on the tablecloth, obviously displeased and uncomfortable. Elizabeth, trying to ease his discomfort, had remarked on what a sweet girl Georgiana was, and how glad she was to have made a new friend in her. Jane had seconded her wholeheartedly. Will had looked up, the beginnings of a smile gracing his face for the first time that evening, obviously about to say something, when Lydia had suddenly snorted loudly.

"_Georgiana Darcy, a sweet girl? What a good joke, Lizzy!"_

She'd still been wondering what the hell Lydia was about, when her mother had suddenly leaned towards Will with a simpering smile on her face:

"_Don't worry, William, we won't tell anyone about your sister. After all, who doesn't have a family member or two they're a little ashamed of?"_

Elizabeth shuddered as she remembered the way Will's face had paled. Without another word, he'd reached for his napkin, wiped his mouth and stood up, the legs of his chair scraping the floor noisily. His voice had been cold and formal when he'd said:

"_Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Bennet, it has been lovely to meet your family. Unfortunately, I have an early morning tomorrow and must get going. Good night."_

With that, he'd turned and left the room. Elizabeth, after sending one more murderous glance towards her mother and a giggling Lydia, had rushed after him.

Their drive home had been virtually silent. At first, Elizabeth had tried to apologize for the way her mother and sister had behaved. He'd told that it wasn't her fault, but his voice had been tense, and he hadn't so much as looked at her. She'd reached for his hand, and he'd held it for a short while, but had then let go of it, ostensibly to change gears. After that, he'd kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. She'd wanted to ask him what exactly it was that her delusional mother thought she knew about Georgiana, but seeing his scowl, hadn't dared to.

When they'd reached her building, he'd leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and said goodnight. She'd turned her head to kiss him properly, but he'd already pulled away, not looking at her. Not knowing what to do, she'd whispered a quick goodnight, and stumbled out of the car, swallowing tears.

Ever since their first date, saying goodnight to Will had been like some sweet form of torture. Night after night, it had become more difficult to let go of him, their kisses more daring and heated. Was that over now? Had her mother managed to scare away the best thing that had ever happened to her? She refused to believe it. He'd just been upset because of all that had happened. And she knew he really did have an early morning the next day. Surely, he'd call her tomorrow.

Right?


	7. Chapter 7

_author's note: here's chapter 7, a tad more angst ahead, but nothing too unbearable, i think:) thanks to everyone reading and commenting, and big big thanks to my betas matt and gayle for making it better. all remaining mistakes are mine, obviously._

**Day 7**

_Tuesday, October 27__th__ 2009_

Elizabeth sat on the Tube, her eyes on the blackened walls of the tunnel whooshing by outside the windows of the train. On her lap sat a hastily packed bag, and in the side pocket of the bag was a map of London with an X drawn on it. On another day, she might have been amused by her little treasure hunt. Today, she only felt like an idiot. How had she let the situation get this far? And just as they'd been getting over the strain caused by his meeting her family, too. It was her fault, all of it. She had known the truth. She should have forced her mother and Lydia to listen.

The train came to a halt. _Russell Square_. A young couple came on and sat across the aisle from her, blocking her view of the window. The boy bent closer to the girl, as if to whisper something, but kissed her instead. The girl started to giggle, blushing furiously, and Elizabeth turned her head away. As if on its own volition, her hand reached to the pocket where the map lay, her eyes closing. How many days had it been since he'd last kissed her?

In Covent Garden, just as Elizabeth had begun to wish that she'd taken a cab instead of riding on the underground, the couple got off the train, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was really in no mood to watch other people cuddling. Closing her eyes again, she counted the stops left, trying to remember Georgiana's directions. The X on her map did not mark a treasure, but rather an inconspicuous street in Kensington. And on that street was a house, a red brick house with white pillars on both sides of the door. The Darcy house. And hopefully, in that house Will would be waiting. _Her _Will.

She felt a cold shiver run down her spine as she remembered the events that had led to the mess she was currently in. First, there had been the family dinner from hell. Will hadn't called her that day after the dinner, and when she'd tried to call him, he hadn't answered. She had been worried sick, first blaming her mother for driving him away; and then, later, herself for not trying to put a stop to it. The next day, she'd been at work, alone and miserable, thinking about him. What if he had really started to rethink their relationship? After all, what else could be expected after such an awful encounter with her family? That he would rejoice in the horrid manner in which they'd treated him? That he would congratulate himself on the hope of connecting himself to such people?

She had been just about to start closing for the evening, when she had seen him. He had stood outside the shop window, his palm pressed against the glass, his eyes on her. When she had looked back at him, he had given her a small, hesitant smile. It had been enough. Heedless of what the people around them might think, she had run out of the shop and flung herself in his arms.

"_I'm sorry I didn't call,"_ he'd whispered, his lips in her hair, clutching her against his body.

"_Don't be."_

"_I- - I was upset. Your mother… I, the way she was, I couldn't believe it. And - - and then, the things they said about Georgie. I couldn't…."_

"_It's okay, I understand. My mother… I'm so sorry. I should have done something to stop her."_

After that, things had started to get back to normal. Well, _almost_ normal. In the following weeks, they had spent time together the same as they always had. But, while most things had been talked about in the same open manner they'd always talked about everything, there was one subject that had hung unspoken between them – Georgiana. Elizabeth had been able to tell that there was something there, some story behind why he'd been so mortally offended by the comments her mother and Lydia had made about his sister. But he hadn't seemed inclined to talk about it, and she hadn't wanted to pressure him. On more than one occasion he had started, then changed his mind, and then started again. But it had not been until a few nights before Lydia had gone missing that he'd finally told her the whole, sordid tale. And it had been sad, indeed.

:-:

Will sat on a bench in Hyde Park, staring into the distance, the coffee in the styrofoam cup in his hand long gone cold. How had he made such a mess of things? He might not have liked the Bennets, at least not the mother and the youngest daughters, but they were still Bell's family. And no family should have to go through what they'd gone through, and all because he had been too proud to open his mouth and tell her sooner. It was his fault, all of it. He should have told her sooner. Or, better yet, he should have had that bastard Wickham thrown in jail the first time around.

Sighing, he leaned back and turned his eyes towards the sky. Bell had told him of her mother and sisters, but he had still been shocked by their behaviour. He'd been angry with Mrs. Bennet for the way she had belittled her second eldest daughter and her achievements, and for the fact that she had done absolutely nothing to check the behaviour of her two youngest daughters. The crude, mercenary way she'd enquired after his financial status had appalled him, and her praise of George Wickham had made him shudder.

But he had been mad at Bell, too, for the way she had just sat there, listening to her mother's tirades instead of standing up to her. Only much later had he realized that the way she had reacted did not much differ from the way he himself had always acted with his father. How many times had he sat through dinners, listening to his father's scolding without uttering a word? Who was he to blame her if she did the same thing?

When Bell and Jane had started to talk about Georgiana, he'd felt a small moment of pride and happiness. He was proud of Georgiana, truly proud of how far she had come, how she had managed regain her confidence after what had happened. Happy that his sister had made such friends as Bell and her older sister. And then, Lydia Bennet had opened her mouth and it had all gone sour. He hadn't known what exactly it was that Wickham had told Bell's family, and he did not wish to know. That he had talked about Georgiana at all had been enough to set his blood boiling. His sister might have made some mistakes, but she certainly did not deserve to have the lowest points of her life turned into dinner table gossip by the likes of Fanny Bennet.

It had taken him two days to get over his horror of Bell's family. For two days, he had acted like an idiot, letting his mind fill with disturbing images of what their future would be like if he stayed with her. Mrs. Bennet on their wedding day, telling Bell that she looked tolerable, though she could never make as beautiful a bride as her sister. Lydia and Kitty Bennet visiting them, trying to hit on his friends. Poor Georgiana, being forced to listen to them droning on about dear Wickham. Mrs. Bennet, holding their first baby, offering advice on how to rear their children, and criticizing their parenting skills at every turn. And then, he had understood the gist of it – even at that moment, he'd been thinking of marrying her and having kids with her, as if it was a given. Would he really let one crazy mother make any difference in those plans? No. He had felt ashamed of even thinking about it.

In retrospect, he wished that he had stayed that night of the dinner, instead of rushing out of the house in a fit of anger. Stayed despite his distaste, and explained to them the truth of the matter. Made them understand that George Wickham, despite his charming appearance, was a dangerous man. Or at least, definitely not the kind of man people should let anywhere near their impressionable teenage daughters. Perhaps then, all that had happened later could have been avoided. Perhaps then, Bell would have answered his calls.

The ring of his mobile startled Will back to the present moment. In his rush to dig the phone out of his pocket, he almost dropped the cold coffee he was holding. His heart soared at the thought that it would be Bell calling him, asking him to come back, telling him that she did not blame him for what had happened to her sister.

No such luck.

"Anne? Hello... no, it's okay. I'm in London, actually… really? I… yeah, sure, why not. Actually, I think I really need someone to talk to…."

:-:

_This is a Piccadilly Line service to Heathrow Terminal 5, next stop Gloucester Road._

The shrill female voice on the tannoy jolted Elizabeth from her thoughts. Her heart started to beat faster when she got off the train and headed towards the elevators that would take her up to ground level. A five minute walk, Georgiana had said. A five minute walk, and she would see him.

At the entrance of the station, she stopped to dig out her map. Across the street, sitting on the stairs of a 24 hour Tesco, she saw a woman wrapped in a dirty blanket, a battered paper cup standing on the street in front of her. Just as she was about to look away, the woman lifted her eyes and looked straight at her. It was then that Elizabeth realized that it was not a woman, really, but a girl of no more than nineteen at most. Elizabeth shuddered as an unexpected thought entered her head: was this what could have become of Lydia if Will had never found her?

Lydia had been found missing on a Sunday morning a little more than a week earlier. Elizabeth had asked Will to her flat that day, planning on spending the day cooking, and surprising him with dinner. Cooking was not her strong suit, but with everything that had happened, she had wanted to do something out of the ordinary, something he would hopefully find romantic. If she kept it simple, she'd thought, and asked for a few pointers from Jane, she could surely pull off a decent meal. It could be the start of a new tradition – Sunday dinners for just the two of them.

Elizabeth had not gone back to her mother's house since the horrible dinner with Will and her family, not for a Sunday dinner nor for any other reason. She had called her mother once, hoping against reason to make her understand how very rude she had been to Will and to herself, and to once again try to convince her that George Wickham was bad news. But it had been to no avail – Fanny Bennet had refused to see anything much wrong with her behaviour, and had defended her dear George to the point of nausea. Finally, Elizabeth had hung up, determined. As long as her mother remained unrepentant, she would have nothing to do with her.

And so, when Fanny Bennet had called her second eldest daughter on the morning Lydia was discovered missing, she had not answered. When the phone had first rung, and Elizabeth had seen that it was her mother, she'd turned her head away and headed back to the kitchen. She had thought it highly unlikely that her mother would have called to apologize, and that anything else she might have to say could be saved for later. When she'd heard the message her mother had left (_Lizzy! You obstinate, headstrong girl, pick up the phone at once! You caused this mess, and I want you to fix it immediately!_), she had gone and unplugged the answering machine. After the fifth call, she had unplugged the entire phone, determined not to let her mother ruin her plans for a romantic dinner with Will. She had ruined enough already. Whatever it was that she wanted to say, Elizabeth had thought, it could wait for one more day.

Later, Elizabeth had wished that she had picked up. A half an hour before Will had been supposed to arrive, the doorbell had rung and she'd opened the door to find a teary Jane behind it. Lydia, Jane had told her, had run away from home. With George Wickham.

When Elizabeth reached the street marked by the X on her map, she stopped in her tracks. Shit. Some directions she'd had. Had Georgiana never noticed that every other house on the street was built of red bricks and had white pillars guarding the front door? Trying to remember the number Georgiana had mentioned, chiding herself for not writing it down in her rush to get going, she started walking down the street, stopping to ogle at the front of every house that fit the description.

Finally, she espied a tiny plaque on the front door of one of the houses. _Darcy_. She walked up the stairs leading to the door and tried to ignore the unsteady beat of her heart. Should she have just called, after all? What if he didn't want to see her? Georgiana had been sure that he did, but what if she'd been wrong? After all, it had been a week, and he hadn't called her once.

Elizabeth almost lost her courage when she thought of his words when she had last seen him. He had arrived at her flat to find her crying, and had fussed over her endearingly, offering her a glass of wine, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against his chest to calm her down. But when she had finally managed to tell him what was wrong, his whole demeanour had changed. He had paced about the room, cursing. When she'd told about the letter Lydia had left – such a selfish and frivolous piece of writing, that she had hardly believed her ears when Jane had told her about it – he had stopped pacing, and had given her a long, strange look.

"_And what's been done to recover her? Has your mother called the police?"_

"_Yes… but she's only been gone since last night, and since she left voluntarily, finding her is not exactly their highest priority. The officers had told mum that she'd most likely show up on her own in a couple of days when she runs out of money. But you know Wickham, you know what he's like! Lydia is a reckless, foolish thing, but she's still just a little girl. I can't even bear to think of what might happen to her!"_

He had said nothing, only shaking his head. When she had tried to explain to him how horrible she felt just thinking that she might have prevented the whole thing from happening, he had barely seemed to be listening, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth had taken in his appearance and thought that she'd understood what had been in his mind. He'd had enough. He'd had her family insult him and defend the man who had almost cost him his sister. And now, her sister had abandoned her family, and thrown herself at the mercy of that self same man. Surely, he'd had enough.

What he had said next had only worked to confirm her fears.

"_I- - shit, I'm so sorry Bell."_ His voice had been so strained that she had barely recognized it. _"You have no idea how sorry I am. I - - I will go straight away. Goodbye."_

She had sat there, flabbergasted, thinking that he had left her. Only after Lydia had arrived home, safe and with an extraordinary tale to tell, had she realized that there might have been another meaning to his words entirely.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the doorbell. On the other side of the door, the chime of the bell echoed, and she waited for the sound of approaching footfalls and the door opening. But they never came.

:-:

"And you really think that she blames you for what happened? Sounds a bit harsh, if you ask me."

Will sighed, shaking his head. "You don't get it, Anne. _I_ blame me. You should have seen the look on her face; she was so scared. And I could have prevented it, if only I'd swallowed my pride and tried to explain to her mother and sister what Wickham was really like. If I'd at least told _her_ sooner, so she could have tried to warn them."

Anne Bergstein huffed, as she'd done several times already in the course of the conversation.

"Seriously, Will, listen to yourself! It's not your fault. This sister of hers sounds like a real piece of work, to say nothing of the mother. You're hardly responsible for their actions, especially after the way they treated you. If anything, they ought to be thankful."

He waved his hand, annoyed. She was clearly missing the point. "I know I'm not responsible for them. But I- - I feel responsible for Bell's happiness. Who knows what could have happened to her sister if I hadn't found her in time. I feel like I've failed her, Anne."

"What a load of crap! Have you ever even asked her how she feels about all this, or have you just decided for her?"

"It's pretty obvious how she feels," he replied, defensively, "considering that she's not answering my calls. I've left her four messages in the past week. _Four_. She hasn't answered one of them."

For a moment, Anne only looked at him with an unreadable expression. And then, in an unexpectedly stern voice, she said, "Then she's dumber than I thought."

Will thought to protest, but then decided it was useless. It was obvious that he couldn't make Anne understand. Maybe it had been a mistake to tell her anything at all. But he had so desperately needed someone to talk with, that when she had called to let him know she was in London, he had jumped at the opportunity.

Later, as they walked towards his home, she started on the topic again.

"Who is this Wickham guy anyway, to have you all cowering in terror? Nothing happened to your Bell's sister, right? At worst, she got a little lesson she hopefully won't be forgetting any time soon."

A little lesson, indeed, Will thought, remembering the pitiful state he had found Lydia Bennet in. How fortunate that Wickham still kept the same company he'd kept all those years ago. It had not taken Will many days to discover the whereabouts of Amanda Younge, and after that, finding Lydia had been easy enough.

"No, nothing much happened, thank God. But the poor girl had been scared shitless. Wickham had taken her mobile and whatever little money she'd had, and left her at this seedy flat in some less than friendly company."

Anne was unrelenting. "Well, if you ask me, it sounds like she had it coming. What was she thinking, running off with a man over ten years her senior? Surely seventeen is old enough to know better?"

Will said nothing. Anne was a good friend, but he was not about to tell her what had happened with Georgiana. How he'd received a letter one day, several years ago, much like the one Lydia Bennet had left her family. How he and Richard had looked for her for ten days, until finally finding her in another filthy flat, physically unharmed but stoned out of her mind. How his heart had broken when Georgiana had screamed and kicked when he'd carried her out of there, claiming that she wanted to stay with George. No one knew except Richard and him. And now, Bell.

Had Georgiana been old enough to know better? Perhaps, but Will could still not quite blame her for what had happened. Georgiana had been fifteen when their mother died. With an aloof father and an adult brother who loved her but no longer lived at home, she had been left alone at a time when she had most needed guidance and help. So was it any wonder that when George Wickham, Will's childhood friend who'd at that time been working for their father, had shown even the tiniest interest towards her, she had thought that it was love and grabbed onto it like a lifeline. That she'd gone as far as to help him steal from their father's company? That she had sneaked out of Pemberley one night, planning to never return.

Will had never told their father of all that had happened. Georgiana's disappearance had been enough of a wake-up call for the old man, and when she had returned to Pemberley, he had at least tried to make her feel more loved. Will had not wanted to find out what his reaction might have been if he had discovered that his own daughter had stolen from him, and then run away with the small-time thief and occasional drug user that he'd always treated so well. To the police Will had only told that Richard and he had found Georgiana wandering around the streets of London. He had desperately wanted to tell them about Wickham, but hadn't wanted to add to Georgiana's miseries by subjecting her to a scandal. She had been miserable enough when she had understood the extent of Wickham's deceit; that he had only used her to get his hands on their father's money, and wreak a little havoc while he was at it.

"Did you call the police?" Anne asked, startling Will out of his thoughts.

"No…" he replied, until remembering that they were talking about Lydia, not his sister. "I mean, yes. I have every hope that they were waiting for Wickham when he returned to the flat. No doubt there were drugs to be found at that place, maybe other incriminating things, too."

Maybe this time, George Wickham would actually have to pay for what he'd done.

:-:

Elizabeth had been sitting on the stairs of the house for almost two hours, trying to decide what to do, when she suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from a little way down the street. Will. She was about to jump up, when she realized that he wasn't alone. There was another voice, a lilting female voice that she didn't recognize. And she was… laughing?

"_Come on, Romeo,"_ the strange voice said. _"You have to admit that you've been a bit too dramatic about this whole thing. Repeat after me: Nothing happened. I am not to blame."_

Nothing happened? What did she mean, _nothing happened_? Elizabeth strained to hear Will's answer.

"_You really think so?"_

"_Yeah. You're taking way too much responsibility for this."_

What the bloody hell were they talking about?

"_Maybe you're right. But Bell…."_

"…_.won't blame you for this. Unless she's a complete idiot, of course, in which case you'll be better off without her and her crazy family."_

This time, Elizabeth did jump up, just in time to see Will stop in front of the house with the mystery woman. She had her hand in the crook of his arm, and was leaning slightly against him when she spoke. _Bloody hussy._

Will froze when he noticed her standing on the front stairs.

"Bell?"

She looked back at him, suddenly uncomfortable in the extreme. What if he hadn't wanted her to come, after all?

"Hi," she said, hesitantly. Her eyes flicked to the strange woman still in possession of his arm. Will seemed to notice this, and disentangled his hand.

"Bell, this is Anne… Anne Bergstein. My friend." Did she imagine it, or did he put extra stress on the word _friend_? The woman reached her hand toward her, smiling, and she reluctantly shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth, I've heard so much about you." She had a firm grip and an appraising gaze, and Elizabeth wondered what exactly Will had told this woman about her. Anne Bergstein. Wasn't she supposed to be in Austria?

"Oh, um, yes," she mumbled. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Anne is visiting London with friends," Will explained, his voice oddly tight. "Her mother has a house in Knightsbridge."

"Oh." So at least she wasn't staying with Will.

For a moment, no one said anything, and Elizabeth's eyes drifted back to Will. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a charcoal jacket, the collar turned up to protect him against the chill, his hair tousled by the cold October wind. So handsome. God, she had missed him. When her eyes met his, she swallowed. He was staring straight at her.

Finally, Anne Bergstein cleared her throat to break the tension, and turned to Will.

"Right, I'd best get going then. Harrods awaits. I'll talk to you later, Will. It really was nice to meet you, Elizabeth."

With that, she was gone, and Will and Elizabeth were left standing alone in an uncomfortable silence.

"You… you want to go in?" he said, finally, gesturing towards the door. She only nodded, following him as he hurried up the stairs and unlocked the door. Once inside, she had no idea how to begin. For something to do, she pretended to look around the large hall.

"This is… uh, you have a very nice house."

He shrugged, his eyes still on her. "It's Georgiana's, really, these days."

"Oh." She couldn't look at him. What was she supposed to say? Maybe she could start with something mundane? "And, um, how have you been?" Definitely not that.

"Bell…" she felt her throat tighten when he said her name. "Why are you here?"

It was not an unkind question. He seemed genuinely perplexed.

"I- - I wanted to… I mean, Lydia got home yesterday."

"Yes."

"And she told us what had happened. That you… that you had gone to… that place. That you had helped her."

"Yes."

She swallowed again. Why didn't he say anything else?

"And so, you know, I wanted to thank you… for what you've done. For my family."

"Bell," he sighed, looking oddly disappointed. He hadn't wanted her to thank him? "Please, don't. Your family owes me nothing."

Of course. He had been kind enough to help them, but still wanted nothing to do with them. _With her_. Her shoulders slumped, and she could feel the hot tears burning in the corners of her eyes. Don't start crying. Don't bloody start crying. She was startled when he stepped closer and reached his hand to touch her cheek.

"Please, Bell," he whispered, his voice unexpectedly thick. "Surely… surely you must know that I thought only of you?"

Her heart as good as stopped. Of her? "But, I thought…" she mumbled, trying to make sense of his words. "You… you went away so suddenly, and then I didn't hear from you for so many days… I thought you'd had enough of me and my crazy family."

It took a moment for her words to register, and when they did, he looked at her, incredulous.

"Wait a minute… You thought I _left_ you?"

She wrung her hands, not knowing what to think of the agitated tone of his voice. "You didn't call, and I thought that… that this had been too much for you."

"But," he sputtered, "I did call you! I left you a whole pile of messages! Didn't you get them?" He flushed a little, remembering the desperate pleas of his last message. Maybe it was good if she hadn't heard it.

"No," she said, a little defensively. After Lydia's disappearance, she had spent a lot of time at her mother's house, taking turns with Jane to make sure that the house didn't fall down under her constant wailing. But every time she had returned to her home, she had run to the answering machine to see if there were any new messages. There had been none. Not one message in the whole damn week. Not one message…. Shit! Her eyes widened, as she realized what must have happened. True, she hadn't had any messages from him. But then, she hadn't had any messages from _anyone_. Oh shit, shit, shit! The same thing had happened to her the previous spring, when she had plugged her answering machine back in after unplugging it during a thunderstorm. The bloody malfunctioning piece of garbage had stopped saving the messages, and it had taken her five days to notice it.

"Oh, crap," she said, more to herself than to him. "I think I really need to give that mobile a try."

He looked at her, stupefied. So she really hadn't got his messages? It seemed that Anne Bergstein had been right, after all. He was an idiot.

"So you're not mad at me?"

She looked at him, surprised by his question. "Mad at you? You saved my dimwit of a sister from the clutches of that… that bastard, despite what it must have cost you to go through that whole experience again. Why would _I_ be mad at _you_?"

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. When she put it like that, it really did sound quite irrational.

"But… don't you think that if I'd told you sooner of what had happened with Georgiana, this whole thing could have been prevented?"

He watched as her brow knit together, until suddenly, she looked at him, a look of comprehension in her eyes.

"Oh… so _that's_ what you and Anne were talking about?"

He swallowed as she stepped closer, lifting her hands to rest on his chest.

"I don't blame you for what happened, Will," she whispered. "How could I? Who knows if I could ever have convinced Mother and Lydia about Wickham's true character, even if you'd told me the whole story months ago? Don't forget that there was already a load of facts speaking against him, and they still chose to believe his lies. You can hardly be blamed for _their_ stupidity. No. What you did for me, for my family, after the way they'd treated you… no one's ever done anything like that for me before."

"No?" he breathed.

"No. You're the kindest, most selfless person I've ever met, Will Darcy. The very best of men. And I love you."

He wondered if it was entirely manly to feel such flutters in his chest as he did when she reached to take his face between her hands, and he felt her lips brush against his. But the thought was soon discarded when she sucked his lower lip between her teeth in a demanding way, and his body responded in a decidedly manly fashion. "I've missed you," he murmured, gathering her in his arms, and pressing her as close to his body as he possibly could. "I've missed you so fucking much."

:-:

A short while later, Will Darcy found himself facing a dilemma. He had the woman he loved pinned against a wall at the bottom of the stairs that led to the first floor. To his bedroom. She breathed heavily as his lips traveled down her neck, settling on the hollow at the base of it that he so much adored. His hands impatiently tugging the hem of her shirt upwards, hers fumbling with the buckle of his belt, he wondered if it was humanly possible to be any more turned on.

And then, something occurred to him.

"Bell?" he asked, pausing his ministrations, lifting his face toward hers.

"What?" she panted, miffed that he had stopped.

"Well, I was just thinking, what about the new deal?"

She blinked, unable to believe her ears. Was he serious?

"Please, Will!" she cried, impatient to have his lips back on her skin again. "To _hell_ with the new deal!"


	8. Chapter 8

_author's note: here comes day 8! big, big thanks to my betas gayle and matt. and of course to you all, for reading and for the lovely comments you've left me:)_

**Day 8**

_Friday, November 27th 2009_

Elizabeth smiled as she looked at Will's well-formed bottom, the first thing that had greeted her when she had entered the back room of Extensive Reading Co. a few minutes earlier. For a reason she had yet to discover, he was on all fours on the floor, his head under the table in the corner. Instead of alerting him to her presence straight away, she leaned against the door frame and examined his jeans-clad backside, once again coming to the conclusion that it was one of the most tempting sights in existence.

"Not that I mind the view it affords me," she said, finally, "but would you mind telling me what the bloody hell you're doing down there?"

A loud "Ow!" was the only reply she received at first, as he jumped up, surprised, hitting his head on the table. Next thing she knew, the enormous pile of books that had stood on top of the table toppled over, and he was buried under an avalanche of brand new Penguin Classics. Oops. When she heard the string of curses coming from under the table, she wondered if she should run for her life.

"Bell?" he growled, his head appearing from amidst the chaos.

She grinned in what she hoped was an endearing manner. "Sorry?"

His eyes narrowed. "How sorry?"

She smiled impishly, and crouching down next to him, put her arms around his neck. "This sorry…."

Her lips touched his, lightly at first but soon more demanding, and in a matter of moments, he had pulled her on his lap, his hands sneaking underneath her shirt.

"Love," she whispered when it became obvious that they were getting a bit too carried away considering the location. "I think you're sitting on Mr. Dickens."

He smiled against her mouth, his hands stopping their movement. "I am, am I?"

She nodded empathetically. "Poor Oliver Twist is in quite a pinch."

"Serves that bugger right," he replied gruffly. "After all, I will no doubt have a nasty bruise on my arse tomorrow, all because of him."

"Oh, you poor thing," she crooned, pressing kisses along his jaw line. "Maybe tonight, after we get home, we could see if there's any way I could comfort your poor, battered body. You know, kiss it and make it all better and all that…."

He groaned, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her closer. "You bloody tease! How about we go home _right now_?"

"Sorry," she laughed. "No can do. I have a shop to run. Come on, we should get up before someone walks in here."

"Well you know, I'm already up, for all intents and purposes…."

She looked at him for a second, uncomprehending, and then her brows shot up. "Oh… nice, Will. _Very_ smooth."

He laughed, scrambling up from the floor, pulling her with him. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. So, you still want to know what I was doing down there?"

She raised her brow. "You mean besides displaying your divine bum?"

He gave her a rakish smile. "Yeah, _besides_ that."

"Absolutely. Just wait one second…." She popped her head out of the door to see if there were any customers about, but the shop was still empty, as it had been for most of the morning. Oh well, she thought, it was probably the rain. It had been pouring for three days now, and she was starting to wonder if it would ever stop.

"Still no one there. How about you make us tea while I clean this mess up, and then you can tell me all about your grand adventures on the floor."

Five minutes later, the books were again neatly piled on the corner table, and Will and Elizabeth were comfortably ensconced in the two armchairs by the counter, two mugs of tea and some biscuits waiting on the table between the chairs.

"So," he started. "Remember the other day when you and Ed were talking about the floor?"

She nodded. "Yeah, the linoleum is not exactly in mint condition. But you can see that from here," she nodded towards an ugly scratch on the surface of the floor. "No need to get on all fours for that. Are you sure those reading glasses are enough for you?"

"Don't mock the goggles," he warned.

"I'm not mocking the goggles," she smiled, "I love the goggles, I think they're sexy. But seriously, what were you doing on the floor?"

"You really think they're sexy?" he asked, surprised. To him, the glasses were a necessary nuisance, something to wear only when it was absolutely unavoidable. It had never occurred to him that they might actually look nice.

"Honestly? Whenever you put those things on, I get this sudden urge to rip your shirt off and tackle you on the nearest horizontal surface. It's quite distracting, really; I hardly get any reading done these days…."

She laughed at the dumbstruck expression his face had taken. No doubt he was wondering how long it would take to run back to his flat to fetch his glasses.

"Come on, focus. The floor?"

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the mental image of her ripping his shirt off. "Right. The floor. Well, you were talking about the floor and that you should probably invest in new flooring, and something occurred to me."

"And?"

"Well, don't get mad, but I brought a knife with me today and cut off a piece of the linoleum from the corner in the back room."

"What?" she cried. "You cut the floor?"

"Well," he shrugged. "There really was no other way."

"No other way for what? Ruining the floor?"

"No other way to find out what's underneath it."

It was his turn to laugh, as he watched the ire on her face turn into confusion.

"Underneath it?"

"Yeah," he smiled, hoping she would like what he had discovered. "It's an old house, love. And old houses have secrets. Your little shop has what seems to be a really cool Victorian tile floor hidden underneath this linoleum crap. Want to see?"

Of course, she did.

Five minutes later, Ed Gardiner arrived at the shop, surprised to find neither customers nor his niece anywhere in sight. He put his umbrella in the holder by the door and shrugged off his wet coat, heading to the backroom. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a most unexpected sight – for a reason he was determined to discover, his niece and her boyfriend were on all fours on the floor, their heads underneath the corner table laden with the new Penguin Classics that had arrived the day before.

He leaned against the door frame and looked at them, wondering exactly how much it would scare them if he were to suddenly clear his throat.

:-:

At noon, Elizabeth and Will were sitting at the pub with Richard, having lunch.

"You should come, too," Elizabeth said to Richard. "Georgie's working, so we're one person short. Besides, I'm sure Jane has once again cooked way too much and would only be glad for an extra mouth to feed."

"You're sure?" Richard asked.

"Absolutely. I'll give her a ring right now if you want." Elizabeth dug her mobile from her purse, and Will smiled as he looked at her, dangling the poor phone between two fingers in distaste, as if it was a dead fish she had just discovered lying at the bottom of her bag. It amused him how much she still disliked the thing, even after a month of using it.

After Elizabeth got off the table to call Jane, Richard sat silently for a few minutes, looking out of the window, pushing the green peas around his plate. Finally, in a voice that was clearly meant to sound disinterested, he said:

"And you said Char's coming, too?"

Will cocked an eyebrow. So this was why, for the past half an hour, Richard had been dropping less than subtle hints about wanting to accompany them that night. Richard had met Charlotte Lucas a few weeks ago, and while he hadn't said anything afterwards, it had been more than clear to Will that his cousin had been a little smitten with Bell's friend.

"Yeah, she's coming," he replied, and, after a moment's contemplation, added carefully, "with her boyfriend."

"Oh." Richard's face fell almost imperceptibly. "I, uh, I thought she wasn't seeing anybody."

Will took pity on his friend. "It's new. Some guy she used to go to school with, Bill something or other. I don't think it's very serious. Bell?" he asked, as she returned. "Who was it again that Char was seeing?"

Elizabeth sat down and sighed in distaste. "Snotnose."

"I'm sorry?" Richard asked, uncomprehending.

"Bill Collins. He's an old _friend_ of ours…."

:-:

At quarter to six, Elizabeth paced impatiently between the kitchen and the foyer at her flat. Where was Will? Just as she took the dreaded mobile in her hand to see if he had called, it started to beep and vibrate, making her hair stand on end. God, how she hated the thing.

"Where are you?" she cried without preamble, as soon as she'd hit the green button.

"I'm sorry, Bell, the meeting was prolonged. But we're on our way; we'll be at your door in a couple of minutes. And," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "just so you know, Margaret's driving us. No laughing, okay?"

"Sure," she agreed, not really knowing why she would laugh, anyway. "Did you get the wine?"

"Yeah, got it. I'll see you in two, okay?"

"Okay, love you!"

"Love you, too."

She hung up, chiding herself when she saw the goofy smile on her face in the mirror. But she really couldn't help it – every time he said he loved her, even when it was just to end a phone call or something else equally mundane, her heart skipped a beat.

Two minutes later, Elizabeth was standing outside the door of her building, biting her lip to stop the laughter that threatened to burst out of her mouth. From amidst the ever present rain, an old, noisy Morris Mini painted in a pinkish hue had just appeared, Mrs. Reynolds behind the wheel looking much like a long lost female counterpart to Inspector Jacques Clouseau.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet," Richard said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he got out of the car to let Elizabeth in the backseat with Will. "How do you like your ride for the evening?"

"It's… charming," Elizabeth sputtered, as she climbed inside the tiny vehicle. "Good evening, Mrs. Reynolds." The elderly lady turned and smiled to her. "Good evening, Elizabeth."

"I'm so sorry we're late," Will said, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. "The meeting was a nightmare; the clients weren't satisfied with practically anything we'd done. And then we tried to get a cab, but that didn't exactly work out either, but fortunately Margaret here kindly offered to drive us..."

"Yes," agreed Richard, grinning at Mrs. Reynolds. "And we _do_ like to travel in style!"

"Oh, hush, boy," Mrs. Reynolds ordered, "or you'll find yourself walking the rest of the way!"

About five minutes later, the pink Mini stopped in front of the small Victorian townhouse Jane and Charles had bought a week earlier. Or rather, Charles had bought, with the money he'd got when he'd sold his half of Netherfield to Caroline. No sooner had Richard opened the door of the car than the front door of the house flew open and warm, homey light flooded out to welcome them. Richard, Will and Elizabeth quickly thanked Mrs. Reynolds for driving them and, one after the other, jumped out into the rain and hurried towards the door.

"Quick!" Charles rushed them from the doorway, "Get in before you get completely soaked. I can't believe this rain; it's like a bloody monsoon! Was that Mrs. Reynolds I saw? I can't believe she's still driving that old deathtrap!"

Laughter and commotion filled the foyer, as Jane, too, arrived to welcome the guests.

"I like what you've done with the place," Richard quipped, letting his eyes sweep over the piles of boxes surrounding them. "Very modern."

"Indeed, indeed," Elizabeth agreed. "In fact, I once saw a similar style in the flat of this young, up-and-coming architect..."

Jane had just started to apologize for the cluttered appearance of the house, when, as if on cue, a snide voice was heard from the next room:

"I don't understand why anyone would throw a housewarming party before they've even unpacked! Shows quite poor taste, if you ask me."

Caroline Bingley. Both Will and Elizabeth groaned simultaneously. It was going to be a long night.

"I'm sorry," Charles mouthed and, stepping to the other room, continued in a louder voice: "As I've told you repeatedly, Caroline, it's not a housewarming party but a house _buy__ing_ party."

"To which no one invited her in the first place," whispered Jane so only Elizabeth could hear.

"Oh, whatever," Caroline replied, barging past her brother. "Will, darling, it's been ages!"

Will cringed as Caroline reached to kiss his cheeks in what she no doubt thought was a highly elegant manner. Then, not bothering to hide her distaste, she turned to look down her nose to Elizabeth.

"Eliza. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Damned trollop. Unable to resist the temptation, Elizabeth wound her arms around Will's waist, snuggled against him, and gave Charles's sister a saccharine smile. "Yes, _Will and I_ are so happy to see you, Caroline."

Caroline's mouth opened and closed, and then opened again. Elizabeth felt Will's muscles tense under her hands, and knew for a fact that he was trying to keep from laughing. But when she looked up, his face was perfectly composed.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang and in walked an irritable Charlotte Lucas and a stammering Bill Collins, both dripping wet.

"Charlotte dear," he babbled, "you can't honestly blame me for what happened. That lorry came out of nowhere, I'm sure anyone else would have been just as frightened, and..."

"Really, Bill?" Charlotte hissed, paying no heed to the fact that they had audience. "It's a street, Bill. Cars drive on it. _Lorries_ drive on it. Hardly a horror that merits screaming like a baby and throwing the bloody umbrella into the river!"

"B- but, it was dark and I didn't see it coming, and..."

"Right, Bill. A word of advice: Next time, if you're going to toss the damn umbrella in the river, bring your own."

Bill Collins looked like a sad puppy getting a telling to from its owner, and Elizabeth almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He was still Snotnose Collins, puppy eyes or no puppy eyes. She couldn't believe Charlotte was actually dating him.

Elizabeth, under most circumstances the life of the party, spent a good deal of the evening in quiet contemplation, watching the people around the table. Jane and Charles, who had invited their friends to celebrate their new home, smiled so brightly at everyone and everything that the tea-lights Jane had used to decorate the table were almost rendered unnecessary. Charlotte, who a few weeks ago had staunchly declared that while Bill Collins might not have suited Elizabeth's ideals of a perfect boyfriend, not all women were as picky and demanding as she, was now spending all her time trying to avoid her beloved boyfriend or huffing at the supposedly elegant, but in truth quite awkward, compliments he tried to arrange to please her. Caroline Bingley, who seemed clearly undecided on whether it was wiser to focus her considerable charms on Will, who was doing his best to ignore her, or give up and turn her attention instead towards Richard Fitzwilliam, who was directing wistful glances towards... Charlotte? Wait a minute, how had she missed _that_ before?

But most of the time, Elizabeth's eyes were upon Will. Though she had seen it many times before, it still amazed her how transformed he became whenever he was thrown into company he wasn't familiar with or didn't care for. Ever since they had sat around the beautiful table Jane had set in the middle of the cluttered drawing room, and Caroline Bingley had begun her flirtations in earnest, he had been so withdrawn that she had barely recognized him. When Bill Collins had discovered that Will had worked for Bergstein & Koell for a short while, and had tried to begin a conversation extolling the amazing business sense and incomparable creativity of the owner, Katrina Bergstein, Will had given him only monosyllabic answers and looked entirely uncomfortable the whole time.

Suddenly, a thought struck her: What if, the first time they had met, it had been in a situation like this instead of the secluded bench in the Bingleys' garden? Would she have thought differently of him? Would they ever have ended up talking through the night? She highly doubted it, and the thought made a chill run down her spine. She could almost imagine herself, dismissing him as the rude, forbidding man she had expected him to be, and not giving him another thought. Would he be in her life now if that had happened? And would she realize just how empty her life was if he wasn't?

She looked across the table to him, sitting between Caroline Bingley and Bill Collins, looking utterly forlorn. Unexpectedly, she felt her throat tighten at the sight, her heart suddenly so full of love for him that it almost hurt. Wanting to comfort him, she slipped her foot out of her shoe and reached her toes to touch his foot under the table. He didn't even flinch when he felt the touch and, suddenly feeling a little mischievous, she slowly ran her toes up his calf. Nothing. He was like a bloody statue, his eyes fixed on his plate. Determined to tease at least one little smile out of him, or one tiny blush, she moved her foot higher, and was just about to reach his thigh, when she realized that while Will still wasn't looking at her, someone else sure was. Bill Collins had turned a gleaming gaze towards her, and when he moved to lean closer to her over the table, she realized to her horror that it had not been Will's foot she'd been touching but his. The smile he wore was nothing less than lecherous.

"And how have you been these past few years, Elizabeth _darling_? I sure have missed you!"

_Oh, crap! Oh crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!_

:-:

It was nearly midnight when Will stripped off his jeans and the jersey he'd been wearing, burrowing under the duvet to wait for Bell. The evening had not been exactly what he had hoped it would be, and he was glad to be home, alone with her. He had been looking forward to spending a nice evening with Charles, Jane, and Char – and Bell, of course – and had been a little miffed in advance when he'd discovered that he would have to try and get to know Char's new boyfriend, who Bell had described as a twit of the first order – a rather accurate description, as it had turned out. And he certainly hadn't planned on spending an evening with Caroline Bingley.

Will was the first to admit that he was a tad unsociable and didn't take any great pleasure in meeting new people or spending time in large crowds. He knew it wasn't the best of his qualities, but he really couldn't help it. He had never been one for small talk and often found it difficult to concentrate if he wasn't interested in what the other person was saying. He would try to pay attention and then, a few minutes later, notice that his mind had wandered miles away, and he had no idea what the person talking to him had said. Equally difficult was to try to come up with something to say to a person who shared no similar interests with him. More often than not, he ended up saying nothing at all, and he really hated himself for it. He envied the talent some people possessed of conversing easily with people they had never met before. When he looked at Bell, for instance, chatting with the customers that came and went at the bookshop, always seeming to be able to catch their tone of conversation and appear interested in their mundane concerns, he felt almost envious.

On a rare occasion, that happened to him, too. With Bell, he had known instantly that he wanted to get to know her and had felt like he'd known the right things to say to her right from the start. To a lesser extent, the same had happened with Anne Bergstein and Charlotte Lucas – Anne had been even more painfully quiet than him, somehow instantly setting him at ease, whereas Char Lucas, unlike most people, hadn't been the least bit intimidated by his silences and had soon made him laugh inspite himself. But more often than not, he felt too uncomfortable to bother making the effort of getting to know someone. And he certainly could not put himself at ease in the company of people like Bill Collins or Caroline Bingley.

_Caroline Bingley_. He wondered if part of the reason Jane and Charles had seemed so overflowingly happy that night had been because they no longer had to spend time under the same roof as Charles's irksome sister. He himself, at least, would certainly go mad if he had to spend any great lengths of time with her. It was beyond the pale that even the fact that he was seeing someone else, and quite happily at that, had done nothing to slow her down.

But, he mused, being rid of Caroline was probably not the only benefit of Jane and Charles's new living arrangements. A content sigh escaped his lips as he let himself imagine what it would be like to build a home with Bell. Was it yet too soon to ask, he wondered?

"What's with all the sighing? You miss Caroline already?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat, lifting the duvet to let her slip in next to him. "I was just, um, nothing. So, Bill Collins, huh? I hadn't realized he was your type."

She harrumphed in mock indignation. "Well, I had to entertain myself somehow, you were obviously too busy flirting with Caroline to pay any attention to me. And you know, I really found those lean calves of his quite irresistible..."

Laughing, he shut her mouth with a kiss, gathering her close against him. She wrapped her arms around him in a possessive gesture and tangled her legs with his. He jumped when her toes touched his feet.

"Jesus, Bell, your feet are freezing!"

"Sorry, cold tiles in the bathroom." With a mischievous smile, she lifted one foot upwards, pressing the icy sole against his naked inner thigh.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"What?" she asked, amused. "I thought you said you were sorry I missed your foot earlier?"

"Well, I changed my mind. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if your foot had been this cold earlier, you would've had Bill Collins screaming bloody murder when you touched him, instead of all that nasty flirting."

She giggled at the thought, infinitely preferring the idea of Bill Collins screaming and jumping out of his chair to what had actually happened. Smiling, she snuggled closer to Will.

"Charles and Jane seemed happy, didn't they?" he asked, in what he hoped was a casual tone.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Very happy. I wonder..."

He swallowed. Could it be that she was thinking the same thing he'd been thinking about? "What?"

She looked at him carefully for a moment, but then, to his disappointment, shook her head and reached to turn off the lamp on the table next to the bed. "Oh, nothing." She pressed a kiss to his jaw and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. "Let's get some sleep."

Long after she had fallen asleep, he lay awake, drawing lazy circles on her back, thinking. Too early or not, he could suddenly think of nothing he wanted more than to share a home with her. But if he asked, would she say yes?


	9. Chapter 9

_author's note: as i seem to be doing in half of my author's notes these days, i want to say i'm sorry for taking so long to post. my life simply isn't co-operating with my plans for weekly posts right now. thank you to everyone for reading, and for putting up with my random posting schedule. leave me a comment to let me know what you think:) and of coourse, a big, big thank you to my beta, gayle, for her grammar magic:D_

**Day 9**

_Sunday, December 27th 2009_

A little after seven o'clock, Elizabeth turned around in deep slumber, accidentally nudging Will in the ribs and waking him up. For a moment, he looked around, disoriented, wondering where he was and what had hit him. And then, in the soft glow of the lights of the Christmas tree, he distinguished the outlines of the woman in his arms, her leg carelessly thrown over his waist, her elbow the obvious culprit for his unexpected awakening. A slow, languid smile spread on his face as he took in her form, perfectly relaxed, her mouth slightly open, a sound somewhere between a snore and a snuffle escaping it every time she inhaled.

Carefully, he extricated himself from under her sleeping body and tucked the quilt they had been using snuggly around her. Squinting in the dim light, he tried to locate his boxer shorts, smirking when he remembered how impatiently she had tugged them off of him several hours earlier. In a heap next to the sofa were her clothes: a white tank top, a lacy pair of knickers, and blue flannel pyjama bottoms that had pictures of Paddington Bear on them. He saw, thrown over the headrest of the sofa, his sweatpants and t-shirt, but no boxers. Stifling a yawn, he gave up his search, grabbing the rest of his clothes and heading for the kitchen.

Stretching his limbs that were still stiff from sleeping on the sofa, he listened to the hum and bubble of the coffee maker. It was a sound from his childhood – no other coffee maker made quite the same noises as this old, Italian device, sitting on the polished marble countertop in the kitchen of Pemberley. Will remembered countless mornings, getting up when it was still dark, tiptoeing in the shadowy hallways towards the light coming from the kitchen. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the smile on his mother's face when he had appeared in the doorway, rubbing the sleeping sand out of his eyes. He recalled exactly how she had smelled when she had gathered him close, kissed his forehead, and lifted him onto one of the barstools surrounding the high kitchen table his father had insisted upon buying – despite knowing that his only son needed an adult to lift him up onto the chairs. And if he really tried, he could even see the steam that would have been rising from the mug of hot chocolate his mother would have had waiting for him. Blinking, he smiled to himself. Bell was right. Maybe there were still some happy memories to be found in this place.

They had arrived in Derbyshire four days ago – he, Bell and Georgiana. It had been Bell's idea to come here for Christmas – one that he suspected had been partly born out of the idea of assuring that her mother wouldn't have a chance to interrupt their holidays – and while he had been reluctant at first, only thawing after Bell and Georgie had joined forces in persuading him, he was happy now that they had come.

Some three weeks earlier, he had finally gathered up enough courage to ask her to move in with him. He had tossed the idea around in his head for a week, making plans, thinking of the practicalities involved. In his mind, he saw them living in an old, tranquil house, covered in vines and surrounded by a garden. Or, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he did not imagine them living in just any old house like that, but at Longbourn Hall, a rundown Regency house just outside Meryton. He had seen an advert on the "For Sale" pages of the _Meryton Post_; and from two black and white photos and a few short words, an entire daydream had developed. One day, he had even skipped lunch to drive out of town and see the place for himself. And then, Bell had promptly brought him back to his senses.

_"I would love to live with you,"_ she had said when he had blurted out his plans to her one evening, after he had spent most of the day with Charles, helping him paint the guest room of Charles and Jane's new house, watching the incessant smile on Charles's face as Charles had talked about his plans for the future. _"And you know we're practically living together already; I can't remember the last time I didn't wake up next to you."_

_"But it's not the same."_ He had sounded sullen and he had known it.

_"No, it's not,"_ she'd agreed, smiling at his sour face. _"But a house, Will? Don't you think it's a bit … a bit too soon?"_

He had crossed his arms across his chest. _"No."_

_"But what about Georgie?"_

_"She could come live with us, for now. She'll probably be going back to uni next year anyway."_

_"And your job? You'd be happy to settle in Meryton permanently?"_

He had blanched. _That_, he hadn't really thought of. But in the end, it had been a no-brainer. She had her shop, and knowing how much she loved it, he would never suggest that she abandon it.

_"You're here,"_ he'd said simply.

She had smiled then, not the amused smile of before, but the sort of smile that always made his heart thump a little faster.

_"I love you, you know,"_ she'd whispered, reaching to kiss him. For a moment, he had forgot all about jobs and houses, too distracted by her kisses and the fact that she had moved to straddle him. But then, just as he had closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard of the bed to give her lips easier access to his neck, she had suddenly stopped.

_"But what about Richard? And we're not even married; should we really be thinking about big fat mortgages together?"_

He'd given her a crooked smile. _"Is that a proposal?"_

Her eyes had widened. _"No!"_

_"Charles and Jane have a house, and they're not married."_

_"But they're going to be. Besides, it's really Charles's house, isn't it?"_

_"Technically, maybe, but I don't think he really sees it that way. And if you're worried about money, I could always do what Charles did, right? I could sell Pemberley."_

_"No, you couldn't!"_

_"And you know,"_ he'd continued, ignoring her reply, bending to brush his lips against her earlobe, _"this whole not being married business you're so worried about..."_

_"Mmmmhmh?"_ she had mumbled by way of reply, her breathing hitching when he had carefully traced the edge of her ear with the tip of his tongue.

_"Well, it's very easily fixed..."_ He had smiled when he'd felt her tense.

_"Is that a proposal?"_

_"I don't know."_ He had continued moving his lips down her throat, spreading his palms against the small of her back to pull her closer. _"I suppose it depends... If it were, would you say yes?"_

_:-:  
_

A little before eight, Elizabeth awaked from a dream that had mostly been a pleasant repetition of what she and Will had been up to the night before. She had waked up once before, sometime in the middle of the night, wondering if she shouldn't have waked him up, too, so that they could have moved to the bedroom. But in the end she had decided not to – Will, in all his naked glory, had been spooning her, his arms wrapped possessively around her, and she really hadn't been of a mind to move just then, uncomfortable sofa or no uncomfortable sofa.

Yawning, she stretched her hands above her head and looked around the room. Will was gone, as were his clothes, but it was no surprise, for he was often an early riser. The lights of the Christmas tree glimmered in the dark, and Elizabeth smiled as she remembered the trip they had made into the forest surrounding the house to pick it out. Will would have settled for the first fir they had encountered, but Elizabeth and Georgiana had been pickier. After dismissing some five or ten trees that Will had declared perfectly suitable, the girls had finally decided on a lovely, perfectly shaped little tree that Will, too, had grudgingly admitted to having been worth the wait.

When they had first arrived in Derbyshire, Elizabeth had wondered if she had made the right decision when she'd suggested spending Christmas in Will and Georgiana's old home. Will had not visited the house but once since his father died, and had been more than a little apprehensive about going there. But Elizabeth had insisted. She had lost her own childhood home when her mother had sold it after her father had passed, and she often found herself missing it dreadfully. And she had noticed that while Will claimed that he had no happy memories of his old home, he often mentioned it in conversations, probably not even noticing it himself. And so, when he had started talking about selling the place, Elizabeth had decided that something had to be done.

With Georgiana's help, she had managed to convince Will that it would be a good idea to visit the house at least once more before definitely deciding to sell it – and perhaps, while they were at it, they could create a few new happy memories. If, after spending one more Christmas there, he still wanted to sell the house and buy Longbourn Hall, she would not try to stop him. He had given her a smug smile and told her to start getting ready to move.

To stifle the groan that threatened to escape her mouth, Elizabeth turned around to press her face against the pillow. _Longbourn Hall_. What would she do if he actually decided to buy it? He had shown her the photos and told her of his plans, and she hadn't been able but to agree – while the house was far from being in great shape, it had definite potential for loveliness. And she was sure that in Will's capable hands, it would turn out even lovelier than she could imagine. But she still felt extremely uneasy about the idea of buying it. First of all, even in its rundown state, Longbourn Hall was expensive. _Very_ expensive. Between the economic downturn and the planned floor repair at the bookshop, she didn't even want to think about trying to get more money from the bank. And even though Will thought it was foolish, she felt uncomfortable with the idea that he would pay for it all. And, more importantly, she still harboured a vague fear that they were moving too fast.

Shaking her head, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She lifted her knees against her chest, and leaned her chin against them, her hands burrowing between the cushions underneath. _If it were, would you say yes?_ That's what he had said when he had proposed to her, half-jokingly, when they had talked about moving in together. She had laughed at his antics and, when simply taking her shirt off had been enough to divert him from requiring an answer, she had determined that he hadn't been very serious at all. But later, she had wondered what he would have said if she had given him an affirmative answer. The mere idea of spending the rest of her life with him had produced a happy tingle at the pit of her stomach, and she had had an inkling that he most likely felt the same way. But it was too soon to be even joking about such things, right? It had to be.

This train of thought was interrupted when her left hand suddenly caught onto something. Pulling at the bundle of fabric she'd discovered between the cushions, she quickly realized that it was his boxers. An amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she remembered ripping them off him the previous night. Thank God Georgiana had left to visit Richard and his parents the day before, for Elizabeth did not think that she would've been able to stop herself from attacking Will on the sofa, even if she had known that there was someone else in the house besides them. Damn him and his hot reading glasses.

:-:

A grin spread on Will's face when he noticed Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, wearing a white tank top, his boxers hanging loosely on her hips.

"So that's where those disappeared. I was wondering what had happened to them."

She smiled. "Well, you know I have a thing for wearing your clothes. More of them on me means fewer of them on you…."

"Well, I suppose it's better this way around. Lovely as they are, I don't think I could fit inside those lacy things you like to wear without ruining them."

She chuckled, moving over to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Want to tell me what you were thinking just now? You seemed miles away when I came in."

"Well," he said, turning around to face her, pulling her to stand between his legs. "Actually, I was thinking that you might have been right."

She ran her hand through his tousled hair. "Yeah? What about?"

He shifted uneasily in his chair, wondering what she would think about his sudden change of mind.

"About this place. I don't think I want to sell it, after all."

She smiled, bending to kiss his forehead. "I thought you might not."

"You're not upset?"

She raised a quizzical brow. "Upset? Why would I be upset? I told you I didn't think selling was such a good idea."

"But…" he swallowed, "it means I can't buy us the house. At least not yet."

Something at the way he looked at her tugged at her heartstrings, and she found herself swallowing an unexpected lump in her throat, feeling suddenly sad over losing a house she hadn't thought they should buy in the first place. He had made plans for them, imagined a home, a lifetime of memories just waiting to be experienced.

"Oh, Will," she whispered. "I love you so bloody much."

His arms snaked around her, and she leaned in to him, their lips soon engaged in a bruising kiss.

"So you're not upset?" he asked, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Not hardly."

"But you still want to live with me?"

"Absolutely. How about I move into your place for starters?"

"And Georgie?"

"She can live with us, like you said. Or," she paused for a moment, a thought suddenly occurring to her. "Or maybe she'd like to live at my flat? At least until she decides what she wants to do."

He looked at her, suddenly very earnest. "You never wanted that house in the first place, did you?"

Carefully, she cradled his face between her hands and looked at him. "No, love, I didn't."

His shoulders sagged and he started to turn his head away, but she didn't let go of him, turning his face back towards hers.

"Will..."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers again, reluctant, his mouth in a grim line. She bent to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth.

"Before you go getting any crazy ideas, can I explain why?"

He nodded, still sulky.

"Remember how I told you that I couldn't afford to take any more loan right now?"

"Yeah. But then you said that if I sold this place, you'd let me buy it for us, and I thought that..." His voice trailed off, when something occurred to him. "You knew I'd change my mind about selling Pemberley, didn't you?"

She shrugged. "I had a hunch."

"But how? I was so determined to do it."

"Well, I think you're more attached to this place than you realize. You keep mentioning it, all the time, though I think you haven't noticed it. Plus, I'm pretty sure that if you had actually tried to sell it, Georgie would've stopped you. You're not the only one attached to this house, you know."

"But," he sputtered, "she told me that if I still wanted to sell after spending Christmas here, it was okay by her!"

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. "That's because I convinced her that you weren't really going to do it."

Will growled, displeased with what he was discovering. "So all this time you two let me wax poetic about selling this place and using the money to buy and fix up Longbourn Hall, when you really had no intention to ever let me do it?"

"Well, yes. But only because I thought that if you had done it, you would've regretted it later."

She had a point, he had to concede that much. Perhaps he had been a little hasty in his plans. But still, it bothered him.

"Okay. But tell me this: If I had the money to buy the house without selling Pemberley, would you let me do it?"

"No. But you know why. If we're going to buy a home, I would hope that we could do it _together_."

"Hmmh," he mumbled, eyeing her skeptically. "And if we could afford to buy it together, would you have agreed?"

She sighed. This was the conversation she had dreaded ever since he had started talking about the house.

"No."

He looked much like a little boy whose brand new lolly had just been snatched from his hands.

"Why not?" he asked, hating the whiny tinge that had crept in his voice.

For a short moment, Elizabeth wondered if she wasn't banging her head against a wall for no good reason. How could it be too soon when it felt so right? But still, she could not let go of the fear that they were moving too fast. Though it felt like she had known him forever, in truth they had been seeing each other for less than four months. And four months, in her mind, was simply too soon to start thinking about houses and marriage vows.

"I - I told you. I think it's too soon. Much too soon to think about such things."

"But I love you." The three most beautiful words in the world, and he had almost managed to make them sound like an accusation.

"And I love you."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he let her do it, but, with his head against her chest, she was sure she could hear him mumble something along the lines of _Then I don't see what the bloody problem is._

_:-:  
_

He kept his eyes glued to the road, and she noticed that he was going slightly over the speed limit. They had left Pemberley some time ago, and were about halfway back to Meryton. He had been grumpy the entire morning, throwing his clothes back into his suitcase angrily instead of folding them neatly like he normally did. When he had fallen on his face in the snow as he had been dragging the Christmas tree outside, she had almost laughed at the comical sight, but had stopped short when he'd directed a stormy glare towards her. Afterwards, he had sat on the toilet seat in a downstairs loo, grunting as she'd dabbed the small cut on his chin with disinfectant before putting a plaster on it. She had found it oddly endearing, the way he had huffed and puffed whenever she'd tried to start a conversation, secretly amused by the tantrum he was throwing. But now, after sitting over an hour in a car with him without anything that resembled proper conversation, the amusement was starting to wear thin.

"Are you still moping because I don't want the house?"

He didn't look at her. "No."

"Right. And you don't think it's in the slightest a moot point to be mad at me over not wanting to buy a house we couldn't buy even if I wanted to?"

"I'm not mad at you."

"Then why aren't you talking to me?"

"We're talking right now, are we not?"

"Will!" she cried, exasperated.

"What?"

"Stop this. Please. Don't you see? I want all the same things you do; I just don't think we should rush into getting them."

He muttered something unintelligible and still refused to look at her.

"Please, love? This is ridiculous. I want a home with you; I want to marry you. I want every damn bit of you I can get. But I - I don't want everything today. I _like_ taking it slowly."

He gave her a sharp look then, though she could not quite interpret whether if it was a good look or a bad look. And then, in a sudden motion that made her grasp the sides of her seat, he swerved the car to the side of the road and pulled to a stop. Her cheeks felt hot under the unexpected intensity of the gaze he was directing at her.

His voice was low, and his words measured when he asked, "You want to marry me?"

She sighed. "Of course I do, you tosser."

A winning smile spread on his face at her words. "So, is _that_ a proposal?"

"No," she said, without much conviction. "Not yet."

"But soon?" With fumbling fingers, he opened his seatbelt, reaching over the center console to take her face between his hands.

"Soon," she agreed, smiling as his lips reached hers, demanding, possessive.

The windows of the car were beginning to fog up by the time he let her go.

"I really wanted to buy you that house, you know," he whispered, brushing her flushed cheek with the back of his hand.

"I know you did. And I love you for it."

:-:

In the evening, Will, Elizabeth and Georgiana sat around the kitchen table at Will's flat, half-empty glasses of red wine in front of them, tired after the eventful day. After arriving into Meryton, Elizabeth and Will had suffered through a two-hour visit with Elizabeth's family – their first proper visit since the Lydia debacle. After Will Darcy had seen Fanny Bennet's favourite daughter safely home from the clutches of _that_ George Wickham (as he was referred to in the Bennet household these days, instead of _dear_ or _darling_,) her feelings towards him had undergone a material change. Instead of sniffing at Will's achievements, she now spent her days lamenting on how undeservingly fortunate her headstrong second-eldest daughter had been to catch herself such a knight in shining armour. Not many days went by without there being at least one message on Elizabeth's answering machine from her mother, wanting to know how her favourite handsome architect was doing, and if her daughter was treating him with proper reverence. Thank God, Fanny Bennet had yet to notice that Elizabeth had started to use the mobile, too.

After an hour listening to her mother's fawning over Will, and watching Lydia making gooey eyes at her saviour, Elizabeth had been convinced that her head might burst any minute. But then, Will had squeezed her hand and whispered, _"Soon!"_ in her ear, and her smile had promptly returned. Still, two hours had been more than enough, and both had been glad for the excuse of having to pick Georgiana up from the train station. When Mrs. Bennet had asked what they were doing on New Year's, Elizabeth had been careful not to mention the party Jane and Charles were throwing.

"So let me get this straight. You're not going to sell Pemberley?" Georgiana asked, carefully.

"No need to act surprised." Will narrowed his eyes in mock indignation, and Georgiana looked worried for a minute, but then the tug at the corner of his lips gave him away.

"You're not mad, are you? I really thought it would have been a bad idea."

"No, Georgie, I'm not mad," he said.

"Anymore, that is," Elizabeth added, winking at Georgiana.

The girl smiled. "And you have agreed not to buy the other house?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

"Not for now, at least," said Will.

"Right. And you have agreed that you're not going to get married – yet?"

"Precisely," Will replied, smiling widely, reaching to take Elizabeth's hand in his.

For a moment, Georgiana looked askance at the smiling faces before her. Then, she shook her head in confusion.

"Okay. I'm not following you. _At all_. You've agreed to do absolutely nothing, and yet you both look like you've just won the bloody lottery."

Elizabeth laughed. "Well, not exactly _nothing_. This whole getting-married-but-not-yet-business is kind of a big deal, don't you think?"

"And Bell is going to move in with us, if that's okay by you," Will added.

Georgiana rolled her eyes. "Of course it's okay by me, she practically lives here already. But are you sure having me here won't interrupt all the love nest building?"

"Definitely not. But if you'd prefer it, your brother and I were thinking that maybe you'd like to move into my flat instead? At least until you decide what to do with your studies. I'm renting it from Ed and Maddy, you know, and I'm sure they'd be happy to have you as their new tenant."

Georgiana's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Absolutely. But only if you really want to."

"Well, I do love that little place," Georgiana mused, contemplative. "And all the stomping I have to do around here to keep from walking in on you two while you're busy undressing each other is really getting on my poor feet– "

"Georgie!" Will cried, flushing.

"–so yes, Lizzy," Georgiana grinned, "I think I'd love to move into your place. Any chance you'd be willing to let me keep all those books there, too?"


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N Here comes Day 10, we're getting closer to the end! Much thanks to Gayle for betaing, and to all of you for taking the time to read and leave me your comments :)_

**Day 10**

_Wednesday, January 27th 2010_

Reluctantly opening one eye, Will craned his neck to see the alarm clock. Six forty-four. Determined to get his last sixty seconds of sleep, he fell back on the bed and squeezed his eyes shut. Exactly fifteen seconds later, the alarm went off. Bloody fuck. Groggily, he pushed himself up enough to reach the clock and shut it up. For a few minutes, he lay on his back, stretching his legs, his toes curling in distaste as his feet accidentally slipped from under the duvet and came in touch with the cool morning air. Groaning, he swiftly pulled his feet back in and snuggled closer to Bell's sleeping form. Forty-five seconds later, he realized that he was falling back asleep; so he grudgingly dragged himself out of bed.

If there was one downside to living with Bell, he mused while brushing his teeth, it was definitely the mornings. He had always been an early riser, but lately, living with her had started to wreak havoc on his morning routines. At least on chilly winter mornings like this one. Save for Saturday mornings, she always went to work later than he did, and every time his alarm went off at six forty-five and he was forced to tear himself away from the sweet warmth of their shared bed, he could swear he died a little.

Shaking his head at his morbid morning thoughts, he turned on the shower, shivering as he slipped off his t-shirt and boxers and stepped inside the cubicle. The hot water did nothing to warm him, and when he stepped out of the shower ten minutes later, he was still freezing. After vigorously scrubbing himself with a towel, as much to warm himself as to dry off, he tiptoed back to the bedroom, casting a longing glance towards the bed and Bell's messy hair sticking out from under the edge of the duvet, before opening the closet. He had no meetings that day and he blissfully could skip the suits and dress shirts, opting instead for a pair of jeans and the warmest sweater he could find.

While the coffee was brewing, he got the morning's paper and spread it on the kitchen table. Sitting down, he leaned his head against his hand and closed his eyes for a moment. The roughness of his cheek against his palm alerted him to the fact that he had forgot to shave, but instead of returning to the bathroom, he just smiled to himself lazily. Bell liked it when he forgot to shave. God, he was such a fool for her. He had no doubt that had she told him that she liked it when he walked around without pants, he probably would have tossed all his pants in the bin and would never have worn them again. Then again, he sniggered, she probably _would_ like it if he did just that….

Pouring himself a generous cup of coffee, he threw a slice of bread into the toaster and took out the jam. He and Bell were forever planning to fill the cupboards and keep more food around the house, fruit and whatnot, but they never quite got around to doing it. Instead, they had an ever-growing pile of take-away menus and a discount card for Mr. Wong's.

At seven twenty-five, he had finished his breakfast and browsed through the _Meryton Post_, and headed back to the bedroom. This, he mused, while standing in the doorway and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, was the best part of his mornings. Settling back on the bed, he wrapped his arm around the bundle that was Bell, and pulled the duvet slightly down to whisper in her ear.

"Love, it's time to wake up."

She mumbled something incoherent, as she always did, and burrowed closer to him.

"It's almost seven-thirty."

Yawning, she shuffled under the duvet until her face was turned towards him, and gave him a sleepy smile.

"It is?"

"Yup. Time to get up."

"Okay," she agreed, snuggling her head against his chest and closing her eyes again.

"Bell…." he smiled. She did this every morning, making him want to burrow right back under the duvet with her. Sweet torture.

After indulging himself for a moment, he kissed the top of her head. "I have to go now. I'll see you at noon, okay?"

She turned to brush her lips lazily against his jaw. "Mmmm, a stubble, I like that."

Smiling, he got out of the bed. In the foyer, he put on his jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he noticed that his hair was a complete mess, and quickly dashed to the bathroom to set it straight. Grabbing his briefcase and mobile, he was halfway out the front door when he heard a groggy voice calling him from the bedroom.

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He smiled. "Love you, too."

:-:

After Will had gone, Elizabeth lay in the bed for a while, yawning. Reluctant to give up the warmth of the bed but knowing that she had to get up, she wrapped the duvet tightly around her and scrambled up. Squinting at the light coming from the hallway, she shuffled towards the kitchen and headed straight to the coffee maker. Will had left her a mug next to it, along with the jam and the bread that had seen fresher days. Some breakfast. They really should start buying groceries more often.

She poured herself a large mug of coffee and put a slice of bread in the toaster, then sat down at the kitchen table. Once again, Will had _accidentally_ left the _Meryton Post_ open at the very page where Longbourn Hall, still on the market, was advertised. She humphed. The man just didn't give up. He had calculated that if he sold the flat and invested a good part of the money he had got from selling his father's company into buying the house, they could get away with a remarkably small mortgage. And, after she had complained that she would feel like a freeloader, living in a house he would have spent his savings on, he had presented her with his latest argument – if they were one day getting married, then what was his would become hers, so it really didn't matter who paid for what.

Elizabeth sighed. While Will was not exactly mind-bogglingly rich, he was still relatively well-off and compared to him, Elizabeth often felt like a regular pauper. And while she and Will both knew that his money had nothing to do with why they were together, she could see exactly how people like Caroline Bingley or that Katrina Bergstein – or her own mother for that matter – would view it if he bought them a ridiculously pricey house. _Married him for his money_, they would say. She did not like the idea one bit.

Having finished her coffee and toast, she headed for the bathroom, reluctantly throwing the duvet back onto the bed on her way. She smiled as she looked around the room while brushing her teeth. It was ridiculous, she knew, but it made her happy to see their things, scattered around the shelves. His towel next to hers, a basket full of _their_ laundry. He had been right – there was a difference between living together and her spending every night at his place. Now, the flat was theirs. Their home.

Sitting on the toilet seat, she flipped through an old number of _Wallpaper. _On page twenty-three there was an interview of a supposedly famous British designer, accompanied by a picture taken on a busy London street. In the background, she saw a Boots outlet, and absently made a mental note to stop at the one on Park Lane on her way home from work. She needed a new pack of birth control pills, and while she was at it, she could get Will more shampoo. And then, suddenly, something clicked in her head, and she nearly dropped the magazine. She was supposed to start a new pack of pills the next day, which meant that her period should have started three days ago. And it most certainly hadn't.

:-:

"Did you look at the message from the contractor already?" Richard asked, entering Will's office.

"Yeah. Called him back, too, already. He was hard-pressed to understand why anyone would want to leave old rafters that no longer serve any structural purpose exposed."

"And I suppose you set him straight?" Richard asked, an amused twinkle in his eyes

"I did."

"In no uncertain terms?"

"I don't know what you're insinuating; I was perfectly polite."

"Ah, I get it. So you only called him a bloody fucking idiot _after_ you hung up the phone?"

Will flushed. "You heard?"

"Oh, I heard alright," Richard grinned. "As did poor Reynolds, I might add. I think you're in for a little lecture, or at least one of those disapproving glances she keeps throwing over her glasses. Quite uncanny, if you ask me."

Will smiled, too. "If I hide in here until lunch, do you think she'll have forgot all about it by then?"

"I doubt it; the woman has a memory like an elephant. But we can try."

"We?"

"Yeah, I have the sketches for the cycle shelters, I thought we could look them over. And I brought coffee..."

Without waiting for an answer, Richard closed the door behind him and settled in a chair on the other side of the table, offering Will one of the two paper cups he was carrying.

"Cycle shelters," Will grumbled good-naturedly. "The reason I became an architect."

"So," Richard said casually, after an hour of trying to decide how many bikes should fit a single shelter. "Any more crazy phone calls from Austria?"

Blinking, Will looked up from the papers. For a few days, he had actually managed to forget the unfortunate incident with Katrina Bergstein a few weeks ago. It still baffled him to think of what had happened.

"No. No more. Only twenty or so from Anne, saying how sorry she is. " Taking his glasses off, he stretched his hands above his head and looked at the clock. "I thought I'd go visit the campus before lunch, want to join me?"

"Sure," Richard agreed, gathering the sketches back into a neat roll. "After all, you need someone to shelter you from Evil Eyes out there at the front desk."

Chuckling, Will switched off the light and closed the door behind them. He was saved from the lecture with which Richard had threatened him, for Mrs. Reynolds was on the phone when they passed her. She did, however, find the time to give her boss a chastising glare and a shake of her head.

"So, about this Anne Bergstein," Richard started, when they got in the car. "Is she pretty?"

"What?"

"Just thinking," Richard replied, shrugging.

Will sighed, shaking his head. "Richard..."

"Yeah?"

"Did Char break up with you again?"

"She might have," Richard mumbled defensively.

Will sniggered. Richard and Char Lucas had supposedly been dating ever since Charles and Jane's New Year's party. In the space of a single month, however, they had managed to split up at least four times, always for the most absurd reasons.

"So what came in the way of true love this time?"

Richard sighed dramatically. "She's too possessive. I went to have one pint with Andrew after work yesterday, one pint!"

Will eyed him skeptically.

"Okay, it might have been three. And when I came home, she had slipped a note through my letterbox. '_It's over,'_ it said. A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"And was there a reason she was standing behind your door and had time to scribble notes for you?"

Richard shrugged sheepishly. "Well, I might have told her to come to my place after work, and then forgot to mention that I meant _after _I'd had one pint with Andrew."

"Or three."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side? One pint, three pints, who's counting?"

Will laughed at his cousin's sour expression. "Apparently, she is."

:-:

"Ed?" Elizabeth asked, lifting her head from the papers in front of her, trying to locate her uncle between the shelves.

"What is it, dear?"

"Just looking at the numbers. Tell me, did we pay Will's guys already?"

"Oh, yes, I took care of it yesterday."

Elizabeth let out a relieved sigh. "Good. That explains a lot."

"Don't worry, little Lizzy," her uncle said, walking to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "We're doing just fine."

"Oh, I know Uncle Ed," she smiled , leaning into him. "I know. They did a fine job, didn't they?"

"Sure did," her uncle agreed, and both he and Elizabeth let their gazes once again sweep over the posh new floor.

On the second week of January, after a big sale had been arranged, Extensive Reading Co. had closed its doors for two weeks. All the books had been packed up and taken into storage along with most of the furniture. Earning the eternal gratitude of both Elizabeth and Ed Gardiner, Will had called in a few favours, and so, on the morning of the third day, Sam, Oz and Harry had arrived. After a couple of days of watching them work, Elizabeth had been convinced that they were probably the three most efficient repairmen in the whole of Britain – and she much suspected that what she and Ed had paid them was a lot less than they were used to receiving. In nine days, the three men had uncovered the old, black and white tile flooring, cleaned it up and sealed it. In addition, much to the surprise of Elizabeth and her uncle, they had repainted the walls and fixed a whole bunch of other little defects – the doors were no longer creaking, a frame that had been long missing from the front window had been replaced, and the wooden counter had been sanded and re-varnished. At the re-opening party, even Mrs. Bennet had declared that the shop looked very much improved – though Elizabeth was fairly sure that her declaration had mostly been inspired by the fact that Will had been standing next to her, and she had wanted to please him.

"Oh God, you're staring at the floor again, aren't you? I swear, I'm starting to worry that there's something seriously wrong with you two."

Both Elizabeth and her uncle jumped at the sound of Georgiana's voice coming from behind them, embarrassed to have been caught admiring the floor for what must have been the hundredth time that week.

"Georgie!" Elizabeth cried. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be working until this evening, are you?"

"No," she replied, shuffling off her winter coat, "but it was freezing at the flat, so I thought I'd come to hang out here for a while. You're going to lunch with Will, right?"

"Right. But why were you freezing? Whatever happened?"

"Oh, the heater broke. I'll have to talk to my landlord about replacing it. But you know, he's such a scrooge that I'll probably freeze to death before he'll agree to buy me a new one..."

Ed Gardiner cleared his throat menacingly, but Georgiana ignored him and continued cheerily,

"The only man I know who's even more miserly than him is my boss. Now there's a man who knows how to pinch his pennies! You know, we needed a new floor at work, but instead of spending his money on a new one, this cheapskate decides to rip the old floor off in the hope of finding an even older one underneath it, and then..."

"Georgiana Darcy!" Ed cried in mock indignation. "That's quite enough!" And then, with a mischievous smile spreading on his face, he added: "You know, I've got a half of Maddy's apple pie in the fridge in the backroom, she gave it to me so I could leave it there waiting for you. But now that I think of it, it's probably best that I eat it myself..."

Elizabeth laughed at her uncle and Georgiana, disappearing in the backroom, arguing over the apple pie. Glancing at the clock, she noticed that it was almost noon. Soon, Will would be there. She wondered if she should tell him of her suspicions already. What would he say? Would he be happy? Would he be as nervous as she was now, at the mere thought of being pregnant. But it was impossible, right? She was on the pill, and apart from that one day after Charles and Jane's party, she had remembered to take them most regularly. One lapse didn't make a baby, did it? Her hands started to shake when she imagined herself, sitting on the rim of a toilet seat, one of those home pregnancy tests in hand, waiting for the verdict to appear in the form of a blue line or something like that. She wasn't ready to be a mother yet, was she?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the bell above the door rang. She put a smile on her face and looked up, waiting to see a customer, but saw Will standing in the doorway instead. Without another thought, she ran towards him and crushed herself against him, burying her face in his chest.

"Oh, Will, I've missed you!"

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "I appreciate the sentiment, love, but you just saw me less than five hours ago."

"I know," she sniffed, "but I... see, there's something I need to..."

But before she had time to finish her sentence, she was interrupted by Richard, pushing past Will to get inside. "Bloody hell, you two really are disgustingly happy!"

"Don't mind him," Will whispered. "He's in a bit of a mood; he and Char broke up."

Elizabeth's brows shot up in surprise. "Again?"

Will nodded, chuckling. "Yeah. Don't even ask why. He's a bit down, so I promised I'd go to his place after work, to watch the game. I hope that's okay. You hadn't planned anything, had you?"

Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head. "No. Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

:-:

In the evening, Elizabeth sat alone in the kitchen, staring at the plastic bag on the table in front of her. _Boots_, it said on the side of the bag, written in bold white strokes inside a blue oval. Inside the bag there was a bottle of shampoo, a pack of birth control pills – and a home pregnancy test.

She had sat through lunch, trying to laugh with Will and Georgie as they had poked fun at poor Richard and his and Char's latest break-up, all the while wondering if she shouldn't pull Will aside and tell him that she was late. After work, she had called Char and asked her to come and grab a cup of coffee with her. For two hours, they had sat at Joe's, Char complaining about Richard and men in general, Elizabeth trying to gather courage to tell her friend of her suspicions and ask her advice. In the end, she'd said nothing. It didn't feel right to tell someone else before Will.

What if she really was pregnant? What would people think? She shuddered as she remembered the strange incident a few weeks ago. Will had been in the shower when his mobile had rung, and as she often did, Elizabeth had answered his phone. Without preamble, a strangely familiar voice had started ranting at the other end of the line.

"_Is this Elizabeth Bennet?"_

"_Yes," _Elizabeth had replied warily, trying to remember where she had heard the voice before.

"_So you are the hussy who's been dallying with my daughter's fiancé!"_

Elizabeth's jaw had dropped, and she had instantly realized who was at the other end of the line. It was not the first time Katrina Bergstein had told her that Will was engaged to her daughter. _"I beg your pardon?"_

"_Don't play coy with me, young lady, I know exactly what your game is. Bill Collins told me all about it!"_

"_What? Bill Collins? Is this some sort of a prank?"_

The voice had grown even more irritated and loud, and Elizabeth had had to move the receiver further away from her ear.

"_The only prank here is the one you're playing on Will Darcy! I know the arts and allurements you English girls can stoop to; a quick bat of your lashes and a few pretty words, and before the man knows what has happened, you've got yourself pregnant and are demanding that he marry you!"_

"_What the bloody hell are you talking about? I'm not pregnant, and even if I were, it certainly wouldn't be any business of yours!"_

Katrina Bergstein had begged to disagree.

Ten minutes later, Will had come out of the shower and discovered Elizabeth sitting on their bed, the phone still in her hand, a dumbstruck look on her face. When she had explained what had transpired, Will had looked at her with an equally baffled expression on his face.

"_Really? Pollute the shades of Pemberley? She actually said that? Bloody hell, the woman must have gone mad!"_

A quick phone call to Anne Bergstein had confirmed Will's suspicions. Katrina Bergstein had gone positively insane. Anne had been seeing an English guy for a couple of months, often flying to London to see him. Not inclined to share her life with her mother, Anne hadn't told her anything specific, and for some unfathomable reason Katrina Bergstein had assumed that the man Anne was seeing was Will. When Anne and the man had broken up after New Year, and Anne had refused to talk about it with her mother, she had apparently decided to take matters into her own hands. She had contacted Bill Collins who had at one point worked at Bergstein and Koell's London offices, and who she now knew to be living in the same town with Will. Katrina Bergstein had asked Collins to snoop around to find out what had happened, but Bill Collins had not needed to snoop. He had told Katrina Bergstein that he knew exactly what had happened, or rather, _who _had happened. Elizabeth Bennet.

And so, in an amazing show of high-handedness, Katrina Bergstein had decided to act. Her original intention had been to call Will and confront him, but when Elizabeth had answered the phone, she had seized the opportunity to give her a piece of her mind. Will had been livid. Even Elizabeth had been surprised by the icy contempt in his voice when he had returned Katrina's call. Anne Bergstein had been mortified. She had called Will a number of times over the past few weeks, and Elizabeth had spoken with her, too. She no longer wondered that Will liked the Austrian girl so much – it seemed that the only thing Anne had inherited from her crazy mother was her last name.

A sudden giggle burst out of Elizabeth's mouth. She supposed she could stop worrying about what people like Katrina Bergstein would think if Will bought them the house. A baby would put her in a whole different category of gold diggers. Her laughter stopped as soon as it had started. A baby. Could it really be? But then, there were a thousand other possible reasons for why she was late. A baby was hardly the most likely option. Surely she was fretting for no reason at all.

:-:

At half past eleven, Will stumbled through the front door. Richard had convinced him to go to the pub after the game, and he was a little tipsy – and embarrassed about it. Trying to move as quietly as possible, he tiptoed into the kitchen, heading straight to the fridge for some cold water. Leaning on the counter with a big glass of water in his hand, he noticed the plastic bag on the table. Boots. Wondering if Bell had remembered the shampoo, he reached for the bag, emptying the contents on the table. He smiled when he noticed that she had bought his favourite shampoo. And then, his heart nearly stopped. On the table, next to the bottle of shampoo, lay a small, pink cardboard box. Swallowing, he re-read the text printed on the side of the box to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. First Response. His knees nearly buckled and he had to sit down. Holy crap, could it really be?

With fumbling fingers, he took the box in his hand to see if it had been opened. It had not. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he pushed himself up from the table and started towards the bedroom.

"Bell?" he whispered, but there was no reply. He repeated her name, a little louder this time, but still she said nothing. Turning on the light, he saw that the bed was empty and felt a momentary panic constrict his chest. But then, he heard a sleepy voice coming from the drawing room.

"Love?"

In a few quick strides, he was in the drawing room. She squinted when he turned the light on, and he had to smile at the endearing sight.

"You fell asleep here?" he asked, crouching next to her.

"Yeah," she yawned, reaching to hug him, her eyes still half-closed. "I was trying to wait up for you."

"Sorry, love," he whispered, nuzzling her hair. "My evil cousin lured me into the pub."

"Oh," she mumbled, "I should have guessed. Take me to bed?"

"My four favourite words," he chuckled, scooping her up from the sofa. She leaned her head against his shoulder, yawning again.

"You had something you wanted to tell me today, didn't you?"

"Mmmmh," she agreed, her lids drooping.

"Something important?"

No reply. Looking down, he saw that she had fallen back asleep. Shaking his head, he gently lowered her onto the bed and tucked her under the duvet. In the bathroom, he quickly brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cold water. Leaning against the sink with both hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. A baby? Was he going to become a father?

When he climbed into the bed, she instantly wrapped herself around him, snuffling contentedly against his chest. He contemplated for a moment if he should try to wake her up, but then decided against it. He could wait one more night. Tomorrow, they would talk.

Tomorrow, they would know.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: My thanks to Gayle for her grammar expertise, all remaining mistakes are mine:) And thanks to everyone who has taken the time to comment, I really appreciate it! So, a baby or no baby? It's time to find out:)_

**Day 11**

_Saturday, February 27__th__ 2010_

Sitting at the kitchen table, Will looked at the pad of yellow Post-it Notes in front of him. It was seven A.M., and Bell was in the bedroom, still fast asleep. Was he making the right decision? After their conversation the previous night, it seemed so. But would she agree? He looked at the bag that stood by the door, packed, waiting. He would have to decide something soon.

Taking a deep breath, he ripped a sheet off the pad and reached for the pen. In careful, measured strokes he wrote down the words that had played in his head the entire, sleepless night. Looking at the finished sheet, he swallowed hard. What would she think of it? Gathering his courage, he took the sheet and headed for the bedroom. In the faint light coming from the window, he could see her face. Her brow was creased in worry, and he wondered what she was dreaming of. He stood still for a moment, looking at her, before quietly placing the Post-it on the pillow next to her. With a light kiss on her constricted brow, and a whispered "_Bye, love," _he left the room. In the foyer, he looked at himself in the mirror while putting on his coat.

And then, he took his bag and left.

:-:

At a quarter to eight, Elizabeth woke up, yawning. Still half asleep, she rolled onto Will's side of the bed, ready to bump against his warm, lean form and snuggle in his arms for awhile before getting up. It took her a moment to realize that she was alone in the bed. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she called for him but there was no reply. Falling back onto the bed, she heard something rustle under her head. Lifting her head, she turned around to look at the pillow, but there was nothing there. But again, when she laid her head back down, she heard the rustling sound. Reaching her hand behind her head, she realized that there was something stuck in her hair. A piece of paper. Reaching to turn on the lamp, she squinted to see what it was.

Having read the words on the small, yellow slip, she gasped and fell back on the bed in wonder. Was he serious?

:-:

On his way to London, Will contemplated the unexpected turn their lives had taken. Of

course, he had always thought that a family was something that he would want sometime in the future. A family with Bell. Surely enough, he had even daydreamed about it more than once, imagining a home full of kids, love and laughter. But his dreams had always been set somewhere in the vague, distant future, and he never would have thought that they would show up knocking on his door so soon.

He sighed as he remembered the night that he had come home from Richard's and found the pregnancy test on the kitchen table. He had slept restlessly, and awakened sometime in the wee hours of the morning. For a long while, he had lain still, his arms around Bell's sleeping form, staring at the ceiling. Then, she had moved slightly, a heavy sigh escaping her mouth.

"_Are you asleep?"_ he had whispered.

"_No, not really,"_ she had mumbled in reply. _"You?"_

He had smiled. _"Hardly."_

She had tightened her hold on him and pressed her cheek against his chest. _"I... We need to talk. I... I'm late. Three days."_

"_I know."_

She had lifted her head then, an eyebrow raised in surprise. _"You do?"_

"_Yeah, love. I saw the... the test."_

She had scrambled over him then, reaching for the lamp that stood on the nightstand. Having turned the light on, she had sat on her knees, her eyes wide, her hands fiddling nervously with the hem of her t-shirt. _"Well?"_

He had reached to cup her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. _"Well, maybe you should do it."_

He had sat on the edge of the bed, reading the instructions while she'd gone to the loo. When she'd stepped out, her face had been white as a sheet.

"_Where is it?"_ he had asked, noticing that she didn't have the test stick with her.

"_I left it by the sink. I don't know if I'm brave enough to look."_

She had come to him and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. He had felt her chest rising in an uneven rhythm, her breathing shallow. When he'd tried to draw soothing circles on her back, he had noticed that his own hand was shaking.

"_Love,"_ Bell had whispered. _"What do we do if it's positive?"_

Will cursed out loud as he noticed that he had missed the exit he was supposed to have taken. When the female voice on the navigator told him to make a U-turn as soon as possible, he felt a sudden urge to throw the machine out of the window. It was too bloody late to be thinking of U-turns. Not that he even wanted to make one. He hoped that she agreed.

:-:

The Post-it burned in Elizabeth's pocket as she walked on the riverbank. She had been restless all morning, taking the small, yellow sheet out again and again to look at it. Itching to call Will but determined not to, she had finally left the flat altogether, hoping that a bit of fresh air would calm her down. She should have guessed that this was his plan, after their conversation the previous night, but still she had been surprised.

Plonking down on a bench, she shivered, both because of the cold and because she was nervous. Or maybe excited? It was hard to decide. She had definitely been nervous that night a month ago, as she and Will had sat on the bed and waited for the requisite three minutes to tick by. She had sat on his lap, clinging to him, knowing by the tension that she felt in his body that he was nervous, too. Though she had always thought that it would happen eventually, they had never really discussed having kids. It had seemed a faraway thought, something to contemplate after they had married. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that it might become something to contemplate after only a half a year of dating. How bloody careless of her to forget that pill.

She had told him that, too, while they had sat waiting for the results of the pregnancy test. She had thought that he might be angry, but of course she should have known better. He had told her that these things happened, and rocked her gently until she had calmed down. When the three minutes had passed, they had looked at each other, his expression mirroring the trepidation in hers. Hand in hand they had got up, the short walk to the bathroom seeming to take forever. On the innocuous little stick, waiting for them by the sink, two bright pink lines had greeted them. Neither had slept a wink for the rest of the night.

The next week, they had gone to see a doctor to confirm that they were, indeed, expecting. Elizabeth had felt very much out of place, sitting there in the waiting lounge, surrounded by a number of other couples. Next to her, a woman about her age had sat with a baby in her arms, crooning to the little one while keeping her other eye on another child, about three years old, wandering about the room. The woman had seemed to be there alone, and Elizabeth had idly wondered if she was a single mum. And then, suddenly, the older child had stumbled on something on the other side of the room, a loud wail filling the space. Unexpectedly, the woman had turned towards Elizabeth with an apologetic smile.

"_I'm sorry, Miss, would you mind holding my Allie? Just for a minute?"_

Elizabeth had nodded, gaping speechlessly as the woman had thanked her and carefully placed the baby in her arms, before hurrying to look after the other child. She had sat ramrod straight, her hands rigid, looking at the tiny bundle in her arms in wonder.

"_It's so small,"_ she had breathed to Will, amazed.

After a minute, Will had nudged her side gently, and when she had turned to look at him, he had given her a small smile, inclined his head towards the mirror on the other side of the room and whispered,

"_Look."_

And there, looking at them from across the room Elizabeth had seen – a family. Her cheeks had been flushed, and the small wonder in her arms had looked oddly at home. Will had been smiling, his arm going around her shoulders and gathering her closer. She had looked up at his face and whispered,

"_That doesn't look so bad, does it?"_

He had smiled, leaning to kiss her temple. _"No, love. Not bad at all."_

:-:_  
_

"So what do you think, Mr. Darcy?"

Will blinked, not having heard a word the woman had said. Damn, he should have sent Richard to take care of this, he was too bloody distracted these days. If it wasn't for the fact that the building was full of people on weekdays, he never would have set up a meeting for a Saturday morning to begin with. And certainly not _this_ Saturday morning.

"I'm sorry?"

The woman shook his head. It was the third time this had happened in the course of the morning.

"No, Mr. Darcy. _I'm _sorry. I had understood that you were interested in this project."

Oh, bollocks. He was really blowing this. What the bloody hell had been thinking, imagining that he could get anything rational done after writing that Post-it? Damned idiot.

"I am, Mrs. Oakes, I promise you."

The woman raised a skeptical brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely," Will replied, trying to look more confident than he felt. "Now, about the bow windows..."

Six exhausting hours later, Will walked back to his car. He had managed to convince Mrs. Oakes and her partners that he and Richard were, indeed, not only interested in the project at hand, but also the best choice to take care of it. But it had been a constant battle to concentrate on the task at hand instead of thinking of what awaited him at home. He'd lost count of how many times he had surreptitiously checked his mobile to see if Bell had called. But she hadn't. What if she didn't agree with him, after all?

Will thought back to their first doctor's appointment. After the doctor had confirmed that Bell was pregnant, he had given them a long talk about the different options they had. It had been one of the most unreal moments of Will's life, sitting there, hand in hand with Bell, their palms sweating as the doctor had discussed the possibility of a termination or giving away a child neither of them still quite understood they were going to have. Later, they had sat in their kitchen, shell-shocked, untouched mugs of tea slowly cooling in front of them.

"_We're not ready for this, are we?"_ he had finally said, looking at her uncertainly.

She had sighed, leaning against his shoulder. _"No, probably not."_

He had turned to hug her, resting his chin on her head. _"So what do we do?"_

She had pressed her face against the folds of his shirt, and he had guessed that she was trying not to cry.

"_I don't know, love. I don't know."_

Getting his garment bag from the backseat, Will walked to a nearby cafe. He ordered a pot of tea and a sandwich, wolfing them down without much thought to how they tasted. In the restroom he changed into the clothes he had worn on his way there and folded his suit back into the bag. He was in a rush to get home. But there was one more stop he had to make before he could head back to Meryton.

:-:

Standing on one of the aisles of the grocery store nearest to their flat, Elizabeth looked again at the list Jane had written to her. _Fresh nutmeg and ricotta cheese_. Did they even sell those things here? And what the hell did fresh nutmeg look like, anyway? Maybe she should have accepted Jane's offer to help, after all. But no. She wanted to do this herself. For him. And, should she manage to make a royal mess out of it all, there was always Mr. Wong's across the street. Determined, Elizabeth pushed the cart forward. It was only lasagna, after all. How hard could it be?

At the check-out line, Elizabeth's attention was caught by another customer, further ahead in the line. It was a man, somewhere in his thirties, carrying a baby girl – or so Elizabeth suspected from the staggering amount of pink the baby was wearing – in a carrier. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she observed the excited squeals the child made as the man cooed at her and twisted his face in quirky expressions. She also observed the bags under the man's eyes, and the fact that he seemed to be wearing something that much resembled pyjama pants. In fact, the man looked downright haggard. And still, somehow, very content. She wondered if this was what Will would look like in a year or so. There was something heart-warming about the idea.

After that first visit to the doctor, she and Will had thought of little else other than the pregnancy. At first, both had agreed that they were highly unprepared to become parents. She, in particular, had been alarmed by the mere idea of motherhood. What if she was horrible at it? A baby was not exactly something that one could return if things did not work out. Will, she thought, would no doubt make an excellent parent. Of course, he had said the exact same thing about her.

For several weeks, they had mulled over the matter. And the more days that had passed, the more distant the thought of _not_ having the baby had become. The idea of becoming a parent still seemed daunting to Elizabeth but somehow, though she could not quite explain how, it had also started to seem exciting. And after their conversation the previous night, she knew that he felt exactly the same way.

Elizabeth had been lying on the sofa, her feet propped up on Will's lap, both reading a book. She had been much engrossed in the events of her novel when suddenly, quite out of the blue, he had posed her a question.

"_What think you of Abel?"_

She had looked up from her book, her brow knit in confusion. _"I don't know. That Cain sure pulled a mean trick on him?"_

He had looked amused. _"No, I mean, what do you think of Abel as a name?"_

"_Oh,"_ she had gasped, and by the way he had laughed at her, she had guessed that she must have looked pretty dumbfounded.

"_Isn't it a bit... a bit biblical?"_ she had stammered.

He had shrugged. _"I don't know. I kind of like it."_

She had not known what to say, and he had put his book away, settling down to lie next to her. His face a few inches from hers, they had lain there for a long while, looking at each other, his hand absently playing with her hair.

"_We're really going to do this, aren't we?"_ she had whispered, finally.

"_I think we are, love."_

"_We're going to have a baby?"_

He had smiled. _"It would seem that way."_

It had started out as a tiny tingle at the pit of her stomach, soon evolving into a throbbing in her chest. And then, with a lightness that had surprised her, the laughter had bubbled out of her mouth.

"_Oh, my God, love, we're going to have a baby!"_ she had choked out, and he had laughed too. That night, for the first time in weeks, she had had no trouble falling asleep.

"Miss?" the cashier snapped in a pinched voice.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"For the third time: Do you have a Nectar Card?"

Elizabeth blushed, noticing the chiding looks directed towards her by both the cashier and the older lady in the line behind her. "Um, sorry, no."

Should they get one, she wondered, while packing her purchases. Maybe all responsible parents had Nectar Cards? It definitely sounded more grown-up than having a discount card for Mr. Wong's. With an amused snort that earned her a few more disapproving glances from the cashier and the lady behind her, she exited the shop.

:-:

By the time that Will had parked his car in front of their house, he was a bundle of nerves. The results of the last stop he had made weighed in his pocket. What would she say? She had neither called him nor left any messages, but he was unable to decide if it was a good sign or not. His feet felt heavy as he walked up the stairs, and the closer he got to their door, the more difficult breathing seemed. By the time he was trying to fit the key into the lock, his hand was shaking, and he had stopped breathing altogether, or so it felt. He reached his hand to touch the light switch on the opposite wall in order to see better. And then, he saw it. Fastened to the door was a familiar, yellow, rectangular sheet of paper, with three letters on it, followed by an equal number of exclamation marks:

_YES! _

All at once, he exhaled the breath he'd been holding and instantly regained his ability to move. With a dexterity that would have made Angus MacGyver pale in comparison, he slipped the key into the lock and rushed inside in record time. In the foyer, however, he stopped in his tracks. Save for the faint light coming from the kitchen, the flat was dark.

"Bell?" he spoke softly into the darkness, carelessly dropping his coat on the floor as he walked towards the kitchen, drawn by the lovely, unfamiliar scent that hung in the air. It smelled almost as if someone had... cooked?

When he reached the doorway, he was greeted with an unexpected sight. The kitchen table was set for two, and in the middle of the table stood a single, tall candle.

"Bell?" he asked again and was startled when he felt her hands, coming from behind him, sneaking around his chest, her cheek nuzzling against his back. Happily, he heaved a sigh, leaning slightly against her. It was nonsensical, he knew, but he had longed to be held by her ever since he'd stepped out of the door that morning.

"I've missed you," she whispered, and his chest puffed with happiness. She was just as nonsensical as him.

"I saw your Post-it." His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned his head back as he felt her hands, making their way under his shirt.

"I saw yours, too," she replied, and he was sure she was smiling against his back.

For a moment, he said nothing, reveling instead in the feel of her hands as they inched his shirt upwards, lifting his own hands to assist her in getting rid of it altogether. When she pressed her lips between his shoulder blades, the heat of her breath sending shivers down his spine, he felt the familiar stirrings of desire.

"Bell..." he groaned, covering her hands with his own, arresting their movement. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she mumbled, not pausing the trail of kisses across his back. But he was not done yet.

Turning around, he took her face between his hands, squinting to see her expression in the faint light coming from the candle.

"Love, you don't have to say yes. I know you wanted to take it slow, and..."

He stopped talking when he felt her fingers on his lips.

"I know I don't have to. I _want_ to. In seven short months we'll be parents. And besides, I love you, so much that it bloody well breaks my heart. Let's get married. Taking it slow is for sissies."

With a bark of laughter, he lifted her up and twirled her around in the air. Soon, her legs found their place around his waist and her arms twined around his neck. Laughter changed into sighs and groans as he lowered her down for a long, lingering kiss.

"Take me to bed, love," she whispered, accentuating the demand with a hungry, impatient kiss. He grinned against her mouth.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Darcy."

:-:

Elizabeth awoke from a light slumber to the definite sensation of being watched. The first thing she saw as she opened her eyes was Will, stretched out beside her on the bed, his dark, steady gaze on her. The corners of his lips turned up as she stretched languorously, yawning.

"I hope I haven't exhausted you completely, Mrs. Darcy, as I'm much hoping for a second round later."

She giggled. "You really like that moniker, don't you?"

He leaned in to give her a languid kiss. "You have no idea."

"You know," she said, suddenly thoughtful, "I nearly missed the entire proposal."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I forgot that you were in London and I rolled around in the bed looking for you, and it got stuck in my hair."

He laughed. "Not exactly the romantic scene I had in mind."

"Maybe not, but you definitely managed to surprise me. It's not every day that a girl finds a crumpled Post-it with a marriage proposal on it tangled in her hair."

"Oh," he smiled, "not every day?"

"Nope. I mean, it _has_ happened on occasion, but..."

Before she could finish her sentence, he had shut her mouth with a kiss. And another. Soon enough, he had pinned her against the bed, her chest heaving at a quickening pace as his lips teased her, slowly and meticulously covering new ground as they made their way down her body. And then, his stomach growled loudly.

"Oh, crap," he laughed, stopping just above her navel. "Maybe we should eat something first."

"Yeah," she agreed reluctantly, until suddenly, something occurred to her and she started to laugh.

"What?"

"I had completely forgot. You won't believe this: I've cooked for you!"

In the fading light of the single candle, Elizabeth and Will sat in the kitchen of their little flat, dressed in the sheets from their bed, feeding each other cold lasagna. If the pasta sheets were a little crunchy and the white sauce so runny that it slipped through their forks like water, neither noticed a thing. And when, in lieu of dessert, Will produced the ring he had picked up from London, both were in agreement that it was the best, most romantic dinner they had ever had. And right there, with his wife-to-be perching on the edge of the kitchen table, Will got his second round.


	12. Chapter 12

_author's note: it's day 12 already, we're nearly at the end! as always, huge thanks to gayle for her grammar expertise, and to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment. it's time for some "i do's", don't forget to let me know how you liked the wedding:)_

_(oh, and to give credit where it's due, the poem "O Tell Me the Truth About Love" is by W.H. Auden, 1940)  
_

**Day 12**

_Saturday, March 27__th__ 2010_

"Oh, bloody hell!" Will cried as he looked at himself in the mirror, the knot on his cravat looking much like the result of a six-year-old playing dress up in his father's closet. With shaky fingers, he tugged on the black fabric to untie the knot to once again start from the beginning.

"Come on, let me," Richard laughed, stepping forward and reaching for the offending garment. He and Bingley had been exchanging amused glances for some time, sniggering at Will's unsuccessful attempts to tie the knot and his impatient declarations that he needed no help. "You're only going to strangle yourself if you keep at it like that, and you know Lizzy is going to blame it on poor Charles and me."

"Fine," Will grumbled, surrendering, the mere mention of Bell making his heart thump erratically. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment, and if she was as nervous as he. He could barely believe that in a few hours, they would be married. If only he could skip those hours – and the nerve-wracking reception that awaited afterwards – and jump straight to the part where he would carry Bell over the threshold (and straight to bed) and make love to her for the first time as her husband. His eyes fluttered closed as he imagined slowly undressing her, kissing each new place exposed...

"Stop that!" Richard ordered sternly.

"What?"

"You're thinking of shagging, I can tell!"

Will flushed, embarrassed. "Am not!"

Richard chuckled. "Right. So the dreamy smile and the sigh were because you were thinking of how much fun it will be to spend the day with the forty people closest to you ogling your every move?"

"I didn't sigh!" Will cried, affronted. "Did I, Charles?"

"Sorry, mate," Charles laughed, "but you most definitely did."

:-:

"Excuse me," Anne Bergstein said as she stepped out of Jane Bennet's bedroom to answer her mobile. The screen told her that the call was coming from Will's number, and she smiled, amused.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, I presume?"

The familiar voice at the other end of the line laughed. "Yeah, I'm sorry to be bothering you again."

"It's okay," Anne smiled. She had never actually met Richard Fitzwilliam, but it was the third time he had called in the course of the morning. "What is it this time?"

"The usual. He's nervous, wants to make sure everything's okay with her. I told him that I'd already asked the same thing twice, but he insisted."

"Well, you can tell him that everything's great. Elizabeth is as happy as a lark, and all the preparations are progressing smoothly."

"Excellent, I'll do that. And now that we got that over with, how are things really?"

Anne laughed. "You're sure you want to know?"

"Absolutely."

"And you promise you won't tell Will?"

"Scout's honour."

"Well, Elizabeth is freaking out because she thinks she looks chubby in her dress, and she's afraid that her mother will guess that she's pregnant and announce the news to all and sundry. Her mother already came in to tell her that she should watch what she eats from now on, lest Will change his mind and divorce her. Can you believe it?"

Anne moved the receiver further from her ear as Richard guffawed at the other end of the line.

"Mrs. Bennet – got to love that little lady. I've never met anyone with quite so little tact in my life!"

"Well," Anne replied drily, "it's obvious you've never run into my mother, then."

:-:

In the ceremony room of Meryton's town hall, Will shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, trying to keep his eyes away from the door at the back of the room. Where was Bell? To distract himself, he let his eyes wander over the crowd that sat on both sides of the aisle – his side considerably less crowded than Bell's. On Bell's side, he saw Mrs. Bennet, leaning over the back of her seat to talk to Maddy Gardiner, who sat directly behind her.

"...and I told her time and time again that they should get married at the cathedral; just imagine how many more guests would have fit in there! And that they should rent some nice stately home for the reception, instead of having it at Jane's. And did she listen to me? Of course not! Said they wanted to have a low key wedding, and on such short notice, too – can you imagine? Poppy Phillips will never forgive me for not inviting her daughter – I'm sure of it!"

Maddy Gardiner nodded noncommittally, sending an apologetic glance towards Will, who managed to give her a small smile before turning his head away. On his side of the aisle, things were much more quiet. His aunt and uncle, along with Richard's brother and his wife, were engaged in quiet conversation. Mrs. Reynolds sat alone, wearing one of her customary brown frocks, beaming at him encouragingly when their eyes met. A short way from Mrs. Reynolds, Will saw Caroline Bingley, dressed in a severe black dress and a black hat, her eyes covered with big, black sunglasses. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly as he imagined the fun Bell would later poke at Caroline's funereal attire.

And then, he heard the door open and his head instantly turned towards it. He swallowed as he saw Georgiana, Anne and Char sneaking in. This was it. In his nervousness, he barely noticed the thumbs up Anne gave him before she sat down, or the wink from Georgiana as she walked past him to the piano in the corner of the room.

And, when Georgiana's fingers hit the keys and the first notes of _Come Rain or Come Shine_ filled the room, he literally stopped breathing.

:-:

After Georgiana, Anne and Char had gone, Elizabeth stood behind the door with Jane and her uncle. Her breathing was shallow and the flowers in the little nosegay her mother had insisted upon were starting to droop under the tight clutch of her fingers. When the first notes of music were heard, Jane gave her a quick hug and disappeared through the door. Elizabeth swallowed. This was it.

"Come on, little Lizzy," her uncle said warmly, taking her shaking hand and gently placing it in the crook of his arm. "Let's go get you married."

Elizabeth nodded, taking a deep breath. When the door opened and they stepped into the room, she did not look around her to see how it looked or who was there. Her eyes went straight to the front of the room, to the one person she wanted to see. When her eyes met the dark, serious eyes she was looking for, her heart swelled. He looked so ridiculously handsome, so tall and regal in his black tailcoat and crisp white shirt, that she damn near fainted. Her husband.

The closer they got to him, the wider her smile got. By the time her uncle gave her away and Will took her hand and quickly brushed his lips across her temple, she was beaming. Afterwards, it was not the simple vows they said that Elizabeth remembered the most, nor the indiscreetly loud sigh of relief from her mother as Will said "_I do."_ No. It was his face. His steady gaze fixed on her during the entire ceremony. The way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed as she promised to love him for as long as they lived. The slight flush on his cheeks when he slipped the ring on her finger with unsteady hands. His long lashes, fluttering closed as he bent down to kiss her at the end of it all.

:-:

On their way to the reception – Mrs. Reynolds had magnanimously loaned the wedded couple her pink Morris Mini, and Richard was driving it with all the aplomb of a limousine chauffeur – Elizabeth leaned against her new husband's chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, brushing his lips against her hair.

She smiled, burrowing closer. "So are you."

"Happy?" he asked, pushing a loose wisp of hair behind her ear and letting his thumb travel slowly down her neck, making her shiver.

"The happiest I've ever been in my life."

She sighed when she felt his lips on the spot below her ear where his thumb had been a moment earlier.

"Any chance we could just go home and skip the reception altogether?" he mumbled against her neck.

"Sorry, but no," she laughed. "With all the effort they've put into this, I don't think Jane and Charles would much appreciate it if we didn't show up. Besides, I know for a fact that Poppy Phillips and Althea Long are just _dying _to meet you!"

As they stood in Charles and Jane's foyer, waiting for the guests to arrive, Elizabeth felt Will fidget nervously next to her. She clasped his hand in hers, as much to calm him down as to stop him from bolting out of the back door.

"Oh, bollocks," Will groaned as they saw the first guests stopping in front of the house. "What the bloody hell am I supposed to say to all these people?"

Elizabeth smiled, reaching to pinch his cheek. "Just be your usual charming self."

He cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Right."

For a moment, she wondered if there was any way to make the experience less unpleasant for him. And then, with a mischievous little smirk, she stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"Remember when I told you that Char and I went shopping for some wedding underwear, and I found that lovely bra but no knickers to match it?"

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

"Well," she whispered, brushing her lips against his ear, "I solved the problem."

"How?" He swallowed, and she could already guess his mind was far away from the awaiting throng of guests.

Just before the door clicked open to let the first well-wishers enter, she gave him a winning smile.

"I'm not wearing any."

:-:

By the time Will sat down at the table that had been set in the drawing room for him and his minx of a wife, he was so distracted that he nearly missed the beginning of Richard's speech. Throughout the entire time that they had stood by the doorway, welcoming their guests, Bell had teased him mercilessly, _accidentally_ brushing her bottom against him several times as she leaned in to give a hug there and a kiss on the cheek here, greeting her friends and his. If it had been her plan to distract him from the unpleasant sensation of being the centre of attention, it had worked perfectly – he had vague recollections of exchanging numerous greetings and receiving congratulations but, in all honesty, his mind had mostly been occupied by the tempting possibility that his wife was wearing no knickers underneath her gown.

And then, just as Richard cleared his throat to begin what would no doubt be a string of embarrassing anecdotes about Will's past, Will felt Bell's hand, settling on his thigh under the cover of the tablecloth, drawing light circles on the inner side. When he turned to look at her in alarm, she gave him an impish smile before turning her head towards Richard, continuing her ministrations as if nothing was amiss. He wondered how big a scandal his mother-in-law would consider it if he got up, threw his new wife over his shoulder and carried her upstairs that very minute.

"Are you purposefully trying to drive me mad?" he breathed, leaning closer to her.

"Perhaps," she smiled. "You looked like you could use a little distraction."

"You call _this_ a little distraction?" he whispered, moving her hand higher up.

Her eyes widened as she felt the extent of his distraction under her palm. Perhaps she had gone a bit too far?

"I'm sorry, love," she whispered with a beguiling smile. "I'll make it up to you later tonight, I promise."

Suppressing a groan, he grasped her hand firmly in his to stop it from wreaking any more havoc and leaned back in his chair. _Later tonight_ could not come too soon for his liking.

:-:

Richard had finished his welcoming toast, having garnered a lot of laughs – including a few reluctant sniggers from Will, even if he was the butt of most of the jokes – and dinner was about to commence, when Ed Gardiner stood up, unexpectedly.

"I- I am not a man to make big speeches," he began, awkwardly, "but as my dear friend Thomas Bennet cannot be here on this very special day, I was hoping to say a few words on his behalf." He smiled at Elizabeth who nodded her head encouragingly.

"If old Tom were still with us, and could be here today to witness the happiness of his daughter Elizabeth and Will, I'm sure he would give a grand speech that would make you all laugh and cry – mostly laugh, as that was his way – and I am sure that even now he's watching up there somewhere, sniggering at my poor attempt at giving a speech. So, instead of giving him any more reason to laugh, I am going to do what he did at my own wedding some thirty years ago, and turn to the words of another great man, an old friend of both Thomas and myself, Mr. W.H. Auden."

Fishing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Ed looked at his niece again, and with a little smile, began quoting the poem Elizabeth had heard so many times when she was growing up.

"Some say love's a little boy, and some say it's a bird,  
Some say it makes the world go around, some say that's absurd,  
And when I asked the man next-door, who looked as if he knew,  
His wife got very cross indeed, and said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas, or the ham in a temperance hotel?  
Does its odour remind one of llamas, or has it a comforting smell?  
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is, or soft as eiderdown fluff?  
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?  
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it in cryptic little notes,  
It's quite a common topic on the Transatlantic boats;  
I've found the subject mentioned in accounts of suicides,  
And even seen it scribbled on the backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian, or boom like a military band?  
Could one give a first-rate imitation on a saw or a Steinway Grand?  
Is its singing at parties a riot? Does it only like Classical stuff?  
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?  
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house; It wasn't over there;  
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead, and Brighton's bracing air.  
I don't know what the blackbird sang, or what the tulip said;  
But it wasn't in the chicken-run, or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces? Is it usually sick on a swing?  
Does it spend all its time at the races, or fiddling with pieces of string?  
Has it views of its own about money? Does it think Patriotism enough?  
Are its stories vulgar but funny?  
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning, just as I'm picking my nose?  
Will it knock on my door in the morning, or tread in the bus on my toes?  
Will it come like a change in the weather? Will its greeting be courteous or rough?  
Will it alter my life altogether?  
O tell me the truth about love."

Tears in her eyes, Elizabeth squeezed Will's hand under the table as her uncle read the last words of her father's old favourite.

"My dearest Lizzy," Ed Gardiner continued, clearing his throat, "I have had the privilege of knowing you your whole life and watching you grow from a sweet little child into the intelligent, caring, wonderful young woman you are now. And now, in the past year, I have had the honour to watch close by as you have discovered the truth about love. No one who has seen you and William together will disagree with me when I say that if ever there was a young couple who had uncovered the meaning of love, it is the two of you. Your father would have been so very proud of you, Lizzy-Bell."

:-:

In the bathroom upstairs, Will paced back and forth between the door and the bathtub in the corner. Dinner had been served and the cake had been cut, and he had no doubt that any minute now they would be expected to do something else. Impatiently, he raked his hand through his hair. It felt like he had waited for ages.

Finally, just as he was about to lose hope, the door opened and Bell slipped in.

"I'm so sorry," she laughed, seeing the scowl on his face. "I stopped to thank Uncle Ed again for the speech, and then mum accosted me, wanting to know where you had disappeared. I told her that I was just looking for you, and I was half afraid that she was going to want to look with me but fortunately, Anne showed up and started to ask mum about her dress. That girl really is a lifesaver..."

Her speech was cut short by his lips, suddenly devouring hers, his hands roaming her back, pressing her closer.

"I've wanted to do that all day," he murmured hoarsely, after finally coming up for air. Reaching to lock the door, he pressed her against it, capturing her mouth again.

"Will..." she resisted half-heartedly, whilst twining her hands in his hair, "you'll wrinkle the dress."

"I will, will I?" he smiled, crouching down at her feet. "How about we lift it up a little, then, to keep it safe?"

She heaved a sigh, leaning against the door as he started to slowly hike the hem of her dress upwards, marking his progress with soft kisses.

"God, I love these stockings," he breathed, pulling on the garter with his thumb and letting it snap back against her thigh.

"Will," she panted, "we _have_ to stop. Any minute now someone will come up looking for us."

"In a moment, love," he replied nonchalantly, continuing to slide his hands upwards. "I just need to check something first... Ha! I should have known it! You were lying about the knickers!"

"Disappointed?" she asked, laughing as he tugged on the lacy garment that matched her new bra perfectly.

"Not in the least," he murmured, his head under her hem, his fingers edging under the waistband of the lacy impediment, slowly but determinedly inching it downwards. And then, someone knocked on the door loudly, startling them both.

"Lizzy?" Mrs. Bennet's shrieking voice called from the other side of the door, causing Will to lose his balance and tumble to the floor, biting his lip to keep from yelping as his butt hit the hard tiles.

"Lizzy? Are you in there?"

"Um, yes, mum," she replied, stifling a giggle. "I'll be right out."

"Well you'd better hurry, the groom has gone missing!"

"I'm sure he's not missing, mama. Did you check outside? Maybe he's gone out for a bit of fresh air."

There was a moment of silence as Mrs. Bennet seemed to be contemplating the merit of the idea. In the end, she seemed to agree with Elizabeth's logic.

"Perhaps you're right; it is a bit stifling downstairs. I'll go check the yard. But hurry up, will you? It's very rude to disappear in the middle of your own wedding reception, you know?"

"I know, mum. I will."

After Mrs. Bennet had gone, Will and Elizabeth stared at each other for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

"God," she giggled, "I'm glad it was mum. Anyone else would have guessed in a second what we were up to in here!"

"You're right," he laughed, rubbing his aching butt as he got up. "Perhaps this wasn't the best idea I've had all day."

"Maybe not," she smiled, straightening his lapels and smoothing his hair to a more presentable state. "But don't worry. Two, three hours tops, and then you can whisk me away from here and ravage me all you like, no interruptions."

"_Ravage_, huh?" he grinned, leaning in to kiss her. "I like the sound of that, Mrs. Darcy."

:-:

Some three hours later – and much too late for Will's liking – they were finally standing again in the foyer of Charles and Jane's house. Elizabeth was hugging Jane, thanking her for all she had done for the wedding, while Will stood behind her, his hands in his pockets, leaning his weight from one foot to the other.

"Impatient, are we?" Charles asked, amused.

Will nodded, giving his friend a lopsided smile. "It'll be your turn in August. I heard Fanny telling Mrs. Long just now that she expects there to be at least two hundred guests."

"What?" Charles's eyes widened in alarm, and Will burst out laughing.

"Oh, bloody hell, Darcy," Charles cried. "You scared the crap out of me!"

Just then, Elizabeth turned around and put her arm around Will's waist, squeezing him fondly. "Don't mind my husband, Charles, you know how he likes to exaggerate. I'm sure mum only said a hundred and fifty..."

"Right," Charles chuckled. "You two _definitely_ deserve each other. Now off with you before your mother changes her mind again and starts to demand that you stay until the end."

"Thanks, Charles," Elizabeth smiled, reaching to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "For everything."

Outside, Richard was already waiting, the door of the Mini open. And so, with lots of stumbling and laughter, Elizabeth and Will stuffed themselves in the tiny backseat for the second time that day.

"Where to?" Richard asked, glancing at the happy couple in the rearview mirror.

With a dazzling smile, Will turned to look at his new wife.

"Home."

:-:

With trembling fingers, Will pulled the soft white wrap off his wife's shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, bending to press his lips against the exposed skin of her shoulder blade. She shivered, inhaling deeply, and he smiled.

"Finally."

Letting his hands slide up her sides, he brushed his lips against the nape of her neck, his breathing tickling her as he whispered,

"I love you, wife."

Sighing again, she tilted her head to give him better access, and he dutifully planted soft kisses along the curve of her neck.

"And I you, husband."

Trying to steady his hands, he caught the slide of the narrow zip he'd discovered on the side of her dress between his fingers. While he pulled on it carefully, she reached to open the hook at the top, and soon enough her dress, too, was dropped on the floor.

"Oh, God, Bell," he stammered, as he took in the sight before him. When she twirled around to face him, the sway of her hips alone was enough to drive him mad.

"You like it, then?" she asked, smiling as she noticed the way his eyes roamed over her body, no doubt already mentally undressing her, ridding her of her new underwear. And then, in a sudden moment of self-consciousness, she lifted her hands to cover her belly, blushing.

"It's really starting to show, isn't it? I was almost afraid I wasn't going to fit in my dress this morning..."

"It's perfect," he whispered, moving to stretch his hand over hers. "You're perfect."

Settling one hand on the small of her back and the other behind her neck, he pulled her to him, once more capturing her lips. She responded in kind, nimbly untying his cravat and making short work of the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt.

"Not fair," she panted, trying to tug off his coat. "You got me half-naked by pulling down a single zip. How many bloody layers are there?"

Laughing, he let go of her for a moment, kicking off his shoes and quickly shrugging off the coat and divesting himself of the waistcoat and the shirt. When he reached for his trousers, however, her hands stopped his movement.

"No," she smiled. "Let me."

Swallowing, he looked on as she knelt in front of him and slowly undid his trousers, sliding them downwards until they were pooled at his ankles.

"God, Bell," he breathed roughly, bending down to pull her into his arms. "I need you. Now."

Her hands around his neck, her legs around his waist, they stumbled towards the bedroom, not bothering to find the light switch or to pay attention to the fact that the curtains were drawn even though they had been open in the morning. If, as they collapsed on the bed, Elizabeth felt something out of the ordinary under her back, she certainly did not register it. And if Will, busy doing his best to ravage his new wife, noticed nothing either, he could hardly be blamed for it.

It was only much later, as Elizabeth brushed her hand across Will's sweaty chest, still heaving from the exercise, that they noticed.

"Love," Elizabeth said, lifting her hand suspiciously, "there's something stuck on your chest."

"Mmmh?" Reaching to touch his chest, he, too, realized that something was amiss. "Yikes! What the devil is that?"

Jumping off the bed, Elizabeth quickly found the light switch. Turning back to look at Will, her jaw dropped open. For a moment, both stared at each other in utter surprise until finally, they burst out laughing and Elizabeth ran back to the bed, jumping back in his arms, giggling wildly. Strewn across the sheets, stuck in their hair and glued against their sweaty bodies were rose petals, heaps of them, in all shapes and colours.

"Very romantic," she giggled, peeling one off his cheek.

"Extremely," he agreed, reaching to pluck a few off her bottom, causing another peal of laughter to escape her mouth.

"It must have looked really lovely in here," she mused.

"Yeah. _Before_ we came in, at least," he laughed. "Would you care for a shower, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Most definitely, Mr. Darcy."

:-:

Fresh from a long shower, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, Will rolled the sheets along with the crushed petals into a big bundle and stuffed them inside a blue Ikea bag he had discovered in the closet. Tomorrow was soon enough to think about what the hell they would do to get the stains off. Finding a fresh set of sheets, he started to spread them on the bed, chuckling at the mess they had made.

"Who do you suppose was responsible for this?" he called to Bell, who had gone into the kitchen.

"I'm guessing Georgie, Anne and Richard. I seem to remember that they disappeared at one point. But that's not all they did, look what I found!"

Turning around, he noticed that she had returned from her trip to the kitchen, and was now standing in the doorway with a tray in her hands, wearing the shirt he had worn earlier.

"Cake?" he asked.

"Yup, it was in the fridge. Along with these," she smiled, inclining her head towards the sandwiches and fruits piled on the tray. "I guess they thought we might be hungry."

"How very astute of them," he laughed, stepping to take the tray away from her and leaning in to give her a long, languid kiss.

"So, how about a picnic in bed? I got us fresh sheets."

"May I lie back while you feed me cake and grapes?"

He smiled. "Absolutely."

"Well, then," she replied, "what are we waiting for?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note: Here it is, finally, the last official day of the story. I'm sorry for disappearing for three weeks, I had some RL trouble and it could not be helped. As this is the last day, I would like to say that if you've been reading the story but not commenting, now would be an excellent time to tell me what you thought of it:) And, should anyone be sad that the story is ending, I have happy news for you: it's not. Yet. I've decided to write one more installment, to offer you little glimpses to what happened later. So one more update coming up after this one:) A big thanks to everyone who has been reading, and especially to those of you who have taken the time to tell me your thoughts! And of course, to my wonderful beta, Gayle, for her absolutely invaluable advice:)_

**Day 13**

_Tuesday, April 27__th__ 2010_

Slowly, Will let the tip of his fingers follow the angle of Bell's shoulder and slide down her side, his palm settling on the familiar curve of her hip. Her skin felt warm and smooth under his touch, soft at places and firm at others. His lips curved into a lazy half-smile as his hand moved to stretch over her belly, slowly growing to his eternal fascination. It still amazed him that, come autumn, they would be a family of three.

She shifted in her sleep, her naked form settling more tightly against him, and he gulped. It was only four-thirty. He could hardly wake her up so early, could he? And all because he found himself suddenly lusting after her again, and in the middle of the night of all times? No. She needed her sleep. His resolve was weakened, however, when she shifted again and moaned something that, at least to his ears, sounded a lot like "_Oh, Will!_"Bloody hell. Was she having a sex dream?

Lifting himself slightly up to lean on one elbow, he bent over her shoulder and planted a light kiss at the corner of her jaw. She trembled, mumbling something incoherent again. Sufficiently encouraged, he moved his lips lower, sucking lightly at the spot on her neck where he could feel her pulse. Had he known the effect it would have on her, he might have not done it, for if he had any plans of going back to sleep, they were swiftly discarded when she started to moan more loudly and writhe against him.

"Bell?" he whispered, suddenly quite irreversibly turned on.

"Mmmh?" she replied, her hips arching in search of his.

"Wake up, love."

She stilled, and for a moment the room was absolutely quiet. Then, in a sleepy voice, she said,

"Will?"

He smiled to himself. "Yeah?"

"Mmm, nothing. I was having the best dream. We were at the shop..."

"Really?" He bit his lip.

"...and I had just locked the doors, so it was just the two of us. And I was in the backroom, just washing the coffee cups, and then you came in and leaned against me and started kissing my neck. And you had the most enormous..."

He could almost see her face as she suddenly became aware of the obvious evidence of his desire, pressing against her bottom. She stopped mid-sentence, and a surprised "Oh!" slipped from her lips. And then, in a quick move that belied the fact that she had been asleep only moments ago, she turned around and threw one leg over him, pulling him closer.

"Come on love," she whispered, and he imagined the mischievous smile that she was undoubtedly giving him. "It's your fault that I woke up, and I think the least you can do is to finish what you started."

He did not need to be asked twice.

:-:

Elizabeth hummed as she browsed through the newspaper and listened to the racket and the raised voices coming from the drawing room, now officially a construction site – or a disaster zone, depending on whose opinion one asked. Before the wedding, she and Will had had a long discussion about their living arrangements and finally, instead of a big, new house, they had agreed on making an offer on the small studio flat next to theirs. To their surprise, the owner had agreed to sell immediately. And so, a week earlier, Sam, Oz and Harry had found themselves hired again, and a gaping hole had appeared where one of the drawing room walls had used to be.

Smiling, Elizabeth thought of Will's enthusiasm about the renovation plans. As soon as the owner of the neighbouring flat had announced that he was willing to sell, Will had begun to make wild plans about the different possibilities the expanding space offered. She had sat happily by, giving her opinions when he had asked for them, marveling at his ability to completely reimagine a space that in her mind seemed to offer fairly limited options. When he had presented her with his final plan, she had understood his giddiness. Their new home would be lovely. As soon as Sam, Oz and Harry stopped bickering and got back to work, that was.

"Coffee, anyone?" Elizabeth asked, smiling sweetly, poking her head through the plastic sheets that served as a makeshift door to the drawing room. Sam and Harry turned towards her, abruptly stopping the heated argument that had been going on for a while already, looking decidedly embarrassed. Oz, meanwhile, burst into an unabashed laughter.

"Impeccable timing, lassie," he boomed, between bouts of laughter, "impeccable timing! Now, you wouldn't happen to have any of that apple pie that your auntie makes, would you? I'm sure it would soothe those two right up."

Elizabeth shook her head, amused. "Sadly, no. But if you think it'll speed up the progress, I'll be sure to drop Maddy a hint."

"Don't you worry, lass. In a few weeks, we'll be out of your hair, and then you and your young man can get back to your canoodling."

It was just the sort of reply Elizabeth knew to expect, but she blushed all the same. On Thursday the week before, Oz had showed up at the kitchen shortly after Will had come home from work. It had started out as a quick kiss on the cheek to welcome her husband home but had quickly turned into something else entirely. By the time Oz had entered the room to let them know that the men were quitting for the day, Will had had his wife pinned against the door of the refridgerator, his tongue in her mouth, his hands under her shirt. Will and Elizabeth had been mortified, but Oz had found the situation most amusing. After that, not a day had gone by without at least one joke about young love.

And so, while Elizabeth had grown very fond of the three most efficient repairmen in the whole of Britain, she was counting the days until she and Will would have their home to themselves again.

:-:

Lifting his glasses to rest on top of his head, Will rubbed his eyes, yawning. Perhaps there was a reason most people spent their nights sleeping instead of making love. But he was hardly going to complain. He adored every inch of his pregnant wife's body, and if he'd been unable to get enough of her before the wedding, he was even more unable to do so now. If she had let him, he could have spent hours mapping the little changes happening in her. Her skin had a new glow about it and – to her discontent and his delight – her breasts seemed to be growing. Recently, tiny stretch marks had appeared below her round, little baby bump. She had groaned in displeasure when she had noticed them but he had been secretly fascinated. They would both become parents but she was the one who would have to grow the little one inside her and, when the time came, give birth to the new member of their family. It left him in awe the way her body changed to prepare itself, and every new change had him more convinced that she was the most amazing woman in the world.

To ease his guilt over the fact that she seemed to be doing most of the hard work when it came to having their child, he tried to pamper her every chance he got. He rubbed her feet when they ached and bought her flowers from the market on Saturdays. When she was at work, he kept himself busy doing the laundry and cleaning up the flat so she wouldn't have to worry about those things when she came home. When she had complained that her skin itched, he had rushed to the Boots outlet on Park Lane and purchased three different kinds of lotion. When he had presented her with the bottles, she had cried. She seemed to cry more often these days, and whenever she did, he felt a little helpless.

The week before, she had finally caught on to his plans of indulging her when she had come home one evening and found him in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad. He chuckled as he remembered the way she had stood in the doorway for the longest time, eyeing him suspiciously.

"_Love,"_ she had finally said. _"What are you doing?"_

"_Just preparing a salad," _he had replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

She had raised her brows. _"I can see that. Why?"_

"_Well, I thought you might be hungry when you came home."_

"_So you decided to make some salad?"_

"_Yeah,"_ he'd replied, shrugging his shoulders.

She had smiled then, shaking her head and moving to stand behind him, hugging her arms around him.

"_You really don't have to do all this, you know,"_ she had whispered, pressing her cheek against his back.

"_What?"_ he had asked, though he'd known what she meant.

"_This. Cooking, cleaning the house every two days. Half the time I feel like I've barely stripped off my clothes before you've had them washed and dried."_

He had put down the knife and turned around so that he was facing her.

"_Don't you like it?"_

"_I do,"_ she had replied quickly. _"It's not that. I'm just saying that you don't have to do all that. I thought I was supposed to be the one to develop a crazy nesting instinct and go slightly mad trying to prepare the house for the baby."_

He had laughed. _"So now you think I'm crazy?"_

Her eyes had narrowed and she had looked at him sternly, as if contemplating the possibility. And then, she had broken into a wide smile.

"_No. I think you're trying to take care of me and the baby, and I think I love you for it. Just, you know, stop going crazy with the laundry, okay?"_

:-:

In the backroom of Extensive Reading Co., Ed Gardiner stood at the doorway, scratching his head, looking at his niece who was washing her cup. She'd been at it for at least five minutes now, her eyes closed, a small smile on her face, and he wondered if it was possible to fall asleep in the middle of doing the dishes. It had certainly never happened to him. But perhaps pregnant women needed more sleep and therefore developed an ability to nap while doing the household chores? True, he could not remember such a thing happening to Maddy while she was expecting Lily, but perhaps it was just that he hadn't noticed?

"I'm pretty sure that the cup is clean now, Lizzy, dear," he said, gently.

She started at his voice, the cup slipping from her hands and dropping to the bottom of the sink with a clattering noise.

"Uncle Ed!" she gasped.

"There, there, Lizzy, I didn't mean to scare you. Were you sleeping just now?"

"Sleeping?" she repeated, blushing fiercely. "Um, yes, sleeping. Right."

"You do look a little knackered," Ed Gardiner continued, eyeing her worriedly. "Have you had trouble sleeping?"

Elizabeth looked at her uncle, mortified. She had definitely had less than a full night's sleep the previous night, but it could hardly be blamed on insomnia. When she said nothing, her uncle came closer and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Perhaps you should go home? I could hold the fort here until Georgie and Mary arrive and you could take a good nap to restore yourself."

Elizabeth smiled up at her uncle. When she had first told Ed that she and Will were expecting, she had been worried about the trouble it would cause her uncle and the shop to have her on a maternity leave. But her uncle, the sweet man that he was, had declared her worries a complete load of rubbish. Instead of stressing over the shop, he now spent his days much like Will, worrying over her well-being, watching her like a hawk, interfering whenever she tried to lift something that he considered too heavy.

"Don't worry, Uncle, I'm fine. Besides, even if I did want to go home, I certainly couldn't sleep in all the clatter around there."

"Are the boys doing a good job?"

"They're great. But I'll be glad to have them gone, all the same."

Her uncle chuckled, reaching in the sink to take her cup and lift it in the cupboard. "I have no doubt about that."

Elizabeth looked up at the shelf where the cups stood. The two mugs she had made for her father and her uncle during her short and unsuccessful stint at the pottery classes many, many years ago were the definite showstoppers. But between them, a third mug stood, obviously shop-bought and much neater than the other two, but still fitting in, completing the trio. Elizabeth had bought it some weeks ago, after Georgiana had declared her intention of staying in Meryton permanently. With a black marker, she had scrawled Georgie's name on the side of the cup, attempting to imitate the childish handwriting on the other two mugs.

"I'm glad she's staying," her uncle said after a while, as if having read her thoughts.

Elizabeth nodded. "So am I. I would have missed her dreadfully. Besides," she continued, patting her stomach gently, "she'll be a great help to you around here once this little fellow decides to make an appearance."

Ed Gardiner smiled. "And Will?"

"He's getting used to the idea. I mean, he loves having Georgie around, but I suppose he's worried about her studies. Meryton Uni is a good school, but it's not exactly Oxford."

"But she's insistent?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Very. You should have seen the scowling match when she first told him of her plans. Will can be pretty stubborn when he decides upon something, but it turns out he's definitely not the only Darcy around here with that particular quality."

With a laugh, the two exited the backroom as they heard the bell above the front door ring. While her uncle went to greet Mrs. Boulter and her two little granddaughters, Elizabeth went to the back of the shop, in search of the boxes her uncle had unpacked earlier that morning. Sizing up the two empty cardboard boxes that stood next to the ones that were yet unpacked, she finally decided to take the bigger one. Yes. That one would do perfectly for her plans.

:-:

"So, how was Austria?" Will asked, as he turned the car away from the airport short stay parking area. Moments earlier, Richard had slumped onto the seat next to him, looking grumpy, barely sparing his cousin a greeting.

At first, Richard said nothing, staring out of the window. Then, in a sullen voice, he said,

"You didn't have to come to pick me up, you know. I could have just taken a taxi."

Perplexed by his cousin's strange mood, Will waited for a moment before answering, wondering what the hell was going on.

Two weeks earlier when he had dropped Richard off at Heathrow, his cousin had been bouncing with excitement. Katrina Bergstein, in what Will could only imagine was her way of making an apologetic gesture, had called their office and offered Will a short but profitable consulting job at one of her current projects. Will had declined in a rather chilly manner but later, when Richard had surprisingly announced that he would be more than happy to go, Will had called Katrina back and told her that she would have her consult, after all. Why Richard was so excited to go to Austria, he had no idea. And why he was so sullen now that he was back, baffled him even more.

"I know I didn't _have_ to come," he offered carefully, "but I _wanted_ to. I thought perhaps you might like to tell me what you thought of the project."

"Right," Richard scoffed. "Or perhaps you thought that _you_ might like to gloat a little."

"What?"

"Oh, don't tell me that she hasn't called you already and told the whole thing!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Richard? Did Katrina do something? I haven't heard from her since before you left."

"I'm not talking about Katrina," Richard said, turning to look at his cousin, a quizzical expression on his face. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Will asked, with a strange sense of foreboding.

When Richard replied with a quick and unexpected _"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,"_ and then tried to change the subject rather abruptly, Will suddenly realized what was going on and wondered that he had not thought of it sooner. How bloody moronic could his cousin be?

"Richard?" he asked, in his sternest voice.

Richard didn't reply, his head turned towards the window again.

"You didn't happen to see Anne Bergstein while you were in Austria, did you?"

The way his cousin squirmed in his seat confirmed his suspicions.

"Oh, bloody hell, Richard! Please tell me that you didn't go there with the sole object of chasing poor Anne!"

"I- I might have," Richard replied, meekly.

"Jesus, Richard! You've known her for what, five minutes?"

"I had coffee with her the day after the wedding," Richard said, defensively.

"Oh, you had coffee with her. And during that cup of coffee, did she somehow encourage you to show up on her doorstep unannounced?"

"Well no, not exactly. But I thought it might be a fun idea to surprise her."

Will bit his lip, unable to help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You did, did you?"

"Yeah. Though in retrospect, I have to admit that it wasn't the best of my ideas."

"No?" Will asked, trying not to sound sarcastic. He had a fair idea of what had happened. Poor Richard.

"No," Richard sighed. "You were right about Katrina, by the way, that woman gives the word _demanding_ a whole new meaning. Kept me at work almost non-stop for the first week. But at the first opportunity on Saturday, I took a train to Vienna. I had a bunch of flowers, and I was wearing my snazziest suit, and by the time I found Anne's door, I was swaggering with my own excellence. I rang the bloody doorbell, and, well, you'll never guess what happened!"

Will gave his cousin a sideways look. "Oh, I don't know, a guy named Karl answered the door?"

Richard's jaw dropped. "You _knew_ there was a Karl?"

"I did," Will replied, matter-of-factly. "And you would've known, too, I might add, had you bothered to ask Anne before you rushed to surprise her."

"Oh, shit," Richard mumbled, sinking low on his seat. For a long while, both stared at the road ahead, saying nothing.

"You know what the worst part was?" Richard asked, finally, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"Well, our old pal Karl was wearing nothing but a towel."

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the steady hum of the motor. And then, both men burst into a loud, raucous laughter that continued halfway back to Meryton.

:-:

Looking at the rows of cans and bottles in front of her, Elizabeth sighed. She had been scouring the shelves of the local Sainsbury's for a quarter of an hour now, and still had not found what she was looking for.

"Excuse me!" she called, as a lanky, slightly untidy shop assistant walked past her.

The boy slowed his steps but didn't stop completely, as if contemplating if he could just go on, pretending that he hadn't heard her.

"Excuse me," Elizabeth repeated, determinedly stepping closer to him. "I was wondering, don't you have a non-alcoholic option available?"

The boy stopped, reluctantly turning around. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A non-alcoholic lager. I can't seem to find one."

For a moment, the boy looked at her as if she had two heads. "A non-alcoholic lager? Who'd want to drink that?"

Elizabeth blew out a puff of air, exasperated. "_I_ would," she said pointedly. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh," the boy said, giving her an unconcealed once-over. "I see." His eyes stopped somewhere on the level of her breasts, and he seemed perfectly happy to stare at them, not saying another word.

"So, do you have any?" Elizabeth asked in a pinched voice, pulling her jacket around her.

The boy seemed to snap back to reality. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Non-alcoholic lager." She hoped it would come in big, heavy bottles so that she could smash one on his head.

"Right. Try that one over there," he said, pointing at a few lone cans on the top shelf. "Though I think you'd be better of drinking cat piss."

With that insightful comment, he continued on his way, leaving behind him a fuming Elizabeth. Standing on tiptoes, she tried to reach for the nearest can, but the shelf was too high. Bloody hell! Perhaps she should just buy a can of regular, and then not drink it. But it wouldn't be the same. Looking around, she noticed a small stool nearby and determinedly went to get it. Balancing on it, she was just about to reach the desired can, when she was startled by a shrill voice coming from directly behind her.

"Lizzy! Good grief, girl, what on earth are you doing?"

Sighing, Elizabeth grabbed the can and turned around.

"Hello, Mum."

Without answering her greeting, Mrs. Bennet grabbed her arm and started to drag her away from the aisle.

"Mum?"

"Quickly now, Lizzy, before someone sees us."

"Mum!" she repeated, more loudly, wrestling her arm free from her hold and turning back.

"Lizzy!" her mum hissed. "Come back this instant! And be quiet for God's sake, before someone sees us!"

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth walked back to get her shopping basket, quickly throwing a few cans of regular lager in it while her mother watched her, daggers flying out of her eyes.

"What's the matter, Mum? Is the MI-5 hot on your trail?"

"Worse," Mrs. Bennet huffed, taking Elizabeth's arm again and starting to pull her away, eyeing her shopping basket in distaste. "My pregnant daughter is buying alcohol in the middle of a weekday! Isn't it enough that you kept the news from me so long; do you have to embarrass me in front of the whole town as well?"

Elizabeth looked at her mother, wondering if there was any possible way that there could have been a mix-up at the maternity ward when she was born.

"It's just beer, mum," she sighed, turning towards the check-outs. "And it's not like I buy it every day. I have to go, okay? I have something special planned for Will."

Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Must be a _very_ special occasion for you to be serving beer, of all things!"

Disinclined to explain her plans to her mum, Elizabeth resisted the urge to smile. In her mind, at least, it really was quite a special occasion. But definitely not something she wished to share with her mother.

:-:

When Will came home some time after six o'clock, he found Bell asleep, curled on the bed, an open book next to her. Sleeping was another thing she seemed to do a lot more than she used to. For a moment, he just stood, leaning on the door frame, looking at her. Then, trying to move quietly, he grabbed a quilt from the old leather armchair that stood in the corner of the room and went to the bed, dropping the book on the floor and settling himself next to her, throwing the quilt over their bodies.

When he gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, lazily.

"You're home."

He smiled, too. "Yeah."

"Good," she replied, shuffling closer to him. "I have an important question for you."

"Shoot."

She smiled at him mischievously, and he wondered what she was up to.

"Tell me," she said, after a moment's contemplation, "when was it that you first fell in love with me? I mean, I can completely understand your going on charmingly after you'd got started, but what set you off in the first place?"

His raised his brow in amusement before letting it furrow back down again as he contemplated the question.

"I believe," he said finally, "that it must have been when you called me a prick that night at the Bingley's garden."

"Will!" she laughed, "I'm serious!"

"Very well," he smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "Maybe it was a little later than that. I don't think I can fix on the exact moment, or the look, or the words. But by the time you fell asleep next to me after asking me to read you my Raymond Chandler, I think I was hopelessly, irrevocably sold."

"I thought you might say that," she whispered, cupping his cheek and reaching to kiss him. But then, just as he was planning on doing a lot more than just give her a few little kisses, she suddenly bounded up and, with a quick order for him to wait where he was, disappeared towards the kitchen. He heard the door of the fridge opening and Bell's steps shuffling back and forth between the kitchen and the drawing room a couple of times. Before he could figure what she was up to, she appeared in the doorway again, an excited smile on her face.

"Come on!"

With a smile, he got up. When he got to the door, she took his hand and started to guide him towards the drawing room door, covered with sheets of plastic.

"What is it, love?" he asked, just as she drew one of the sheets aside and pulled him inside the room. She didn't reply, only smiled and inclined her head towards the centre of the room. Turning his head, he noticed that in the middle of the chaos, a small space had been cleared. And, in the middle of that space, stood a cardboard box. And, on top of the cardboard box, there were two cans of beer and cartons of Chinese food from Mr. Wong's.

"Chicken Kung Po?" he asked, swallowing as the memories of their very first night together filled his head.

She smiled, squeezing his hand. "And it's cold, too."

He laughed. "I was an idiot, wasn't I? I had finally met the loveliest woman in the world and then, instead of taking her to a nice restaurant or something, I brought her home and served her cold Chinese leftovers from the day before, and on a bloody cardboard box no less."

"I thought it was the sweetest thing," she replied, sitting down on the floor and pulling him with her. "I wouldn't have fancied you half as much if you'd just taken me to some old, stuffy restaurant."

He chuckled, pulling her to sit between his legs, reaching for one of the cartons and a pair of chopsticks. "And how much did you fancy me, exactly?" he asked, expertly feeding her a chunk of chicken.

"Well," she mumbled, chewing on her food, contemplative. "I _do_ remember that for the first half an hour or so, after I'd found you in the garden, I wanted nothing more than to rip off your clothes and make love to you right there on that damn bench."

He swallowed, his head suddenly full of images of her, naked, straddling him on that old, weather-beaten bench. "And later?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"Later," she replied softly, leaning her head against his chest, "I fancied you so much that it broke my heart to think that you were leaving the next day."

Without a reply, he gathered her closer, cradling her tightly against him in a possessive gesture, her arms sneaking around his waist. For a long time, they sat like so, both lost in thoughts of that magical first evening and the heartache that had followed afterwards. And then, she felt his chest rumbling and soon enough, a chuckle broke out.

"What?" she demanded, leaning her head back to look at him, her brow raising as their eyes met and she saw that his were full of mirth.

"I was just thinking," he sputtered, trying to stop laughing but unable to help himself, "that if I'd known that you fancied me so much that you wanted to rip off my clothes, I never would have suggested that we make that bloody moronic deal. God, I wanted to kiss you then, so badly that I could barely think straight."

She laughed. "Me, too. I can't believe we managed to keep our hands off each other."

His laughter subsided, and his eyes darkened as he looked at her, and she released a happy sigh as she felt his hand at the nape of her neck, supporting her head as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Fortunately," he murmured, "we no longer need to worry about such things."

He felt her smile as he kissed the corner of her mouth, gently, before brushing his lips against hers. Her lips were warm and soft under his, familiar, inviting, and he felt the first stirrings of desire as her hands twined around his neck, pulling him closer. When he felt her tongue touch his, an involuntary groan escaped his mouth. Fleetingly, he wondered what would have happened if they had kissed like this on that first night. Would she still have left in the morning? Would he have been able to get on that plane to Vienna? He found it unlikely.

"Why now?" he asked, later, when they had resumed eating.

"Well," she smiled, "I was going through my things last week and started browsing through my calendar from last year. There were two markings on April 27th, 2009. The first said, _"Lunch with Jane."_ And the second, scribbled shortly after said lunch, said, _"30 days to come up with an excuse to skip Caroline Bingley's party – be creative!"_ Needless to say, I didn't come up with one and so, a month later, I met you. Imagine, if I hadn't gone, we might never have met."

For a moment, Will stared at her, his eyes widening in horror as he thought of what the previous year would have been like if he had never met her. His heart lurched as he imagined waking up in the morning without finding her next to him. Or coming home after a long day to an empty flat. There would be no evenings with Bell, Georgiana and him sitting around the kitchen table, laughing. No hearts drawn on the bathroom mirror when he came out of a long, hot shower. No nights spent languidly exploring every inch of her body. No son or daughter of his, on its way into the world to make him a father. The mere thought made him shudder. With great determination, he jumped up and rushed towards the door, giving her a quick smile before disappearing through the plastic sheets.

"Love," he heard Bell call after him. "What's the matter?"

"I need to find my mobile!" he replied, digging through his briefcase.

"Why?" She had appeared in the doorway, looking at him with a baffled expression.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, finally finding the phone and starting to browse through the contacts. "I need to call Caroline Bingley and thank her for insisting on having that bloody party. Without her commendable efforts, I might never have met you!"


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: I had planned to write a little epilogue of sorts to offer you a few glimpses to the future but, well, things got a bit out of hand and my little epilogue has turned into a monster in thirteen parts, the first five of which I'm posting today. I hope you like them :) As always, big, big thanks to my beta Gayle, she's amazing!_

**Thirteen Things That Happened Later**

**_1. Friday, June 4th, 2010_**

Lying on the bed, Elizabeth listened to the steady patter of raindrops against the window, interspersed with the occasional low rumble of a distant thunder. It had started to rain in the afternoon and Elizabeth, having forgot her umbrella at work, had been soaking wet by the time she got home. Shivering, she had peeled off her dripping clothes, taken a long, hot shower, and burrowed under a warm blanket with a good book. An hour later, Will had come home and done the same, only to fall asleep after having read only a few pages.

When the baby started moving, Elizabeth put her book aside and spread her palms over the expanse of her stomach, waiting. She could feel the familiar little nudges inside her, smiling as she remembered her own surprise when she'd first felt the baby move some weeks ago – a strange, wonderful sensation, like butterflies milling about inside her. She wondered if today would finally be the day when Will would get to share the experience.

Patiently, she moved her hands gently across her stomach, trying to feel the series of nudges from the outside. The movements were getting stronger by the day, and for several days now, she and Will had spent an inordinate amount of time watching and feeling her stomach, waiting for the first outward signs of the daily exercise routines going on inside her.

She was just about to give up, reaching her other hand for the book again, when she felt it – a tiny, little jolt on the surface of her skin. Holding her breath, she waited, and soon enough the movement repeated itself.

"Will!" she whispered, urgently, but there was no reply.

"Love, wake up!" She prodded his side, but instead of awaking, he turned his back on her, grumbling irritably.

"Come on, love," she repeated, raising her voice a little. "Wake up! The baby's moving!"

She smiled as he turned around again, his voice groggy when he asked,

"What?"

"The baby. It's moving!"

For a moment, he looked at her, baffled, his lids drooping. And then, as her words finally seemed to register in his consciousness, he jumped up, suddenly wide awake.

"What? Where? Can you feel it?"

She laughed. "Yes!"

"Can _I_ feel it?"

"I think so. Give me your hand."

Carefully, she placed his hand to the spot where she'd last felt the movements. Wide-eyed, he looked at her, his hand perfectly still under her palm, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously up and down. At first, there was nothing, and she thought that perhaps the baby was already tired of exercising. But then, she felt the nudges begin anew, a little left from where she'd first felt them.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, whispering.

He looked at his hand, and then back at her again, obviously disappointed. "No."

Not replying, she moved his hand a little.

"And now?"

For a moment, both waited silently. And then, she felt another nudge and watched as his expression changed, his mouth opening in wonder, heartfelt delight diffusing over his face.

"Oh, yes," he finally whispered, his eyes shining, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I _most definitely_ felt that."

:-:

**_2. Saturday, August 28th, 2010_**

"Are you okay?" Will asked, looking at his wife who was leaning against the counter in Netherfield's kitchen, looking decidedly pale and exhausted.

"I'm fine," she replied with a tired smile. "Just a bit knackered. And these shoes are killing me."

He looked at her for a moment, letting his gaze travel downwards to the strappy heels she'd insisted on wearing despite his disapproval. He could see that her feet were a little swollen, and that the straps were constricting her ankles in what he could only imagine was a most painful manner.

"I told you you'd regret wearing them."

She sighed. "I know. But I'm the matron of honour; I'm supposed to look pretty."

He smiled. "You could've worn my sweatpants and those ugly, stuffed bunny slippers your mum gave you, and I still would've thought that you were the most beautiful woman in the room."

She groaned. "Don't talk about the sweatpants, I miss them. _And_ the slippers. You can laugh at them all you want, but they're the most comfy pair of shoes I've ever owned."

Chuckling, he stepped towards her, slipping one hand around her back and the other under her knees, lifting her up.

"Will!" she cried, "let me down before you drop me!"

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying her towards the door that led to the garden.

"Will," she whined, "I thought we agreed that you need to stop carrying me around. I weigh more than a bloody whale!"

Ignoring her complaints, he headed towards the river bank, hoping that Caroline, in her redecorating frenzy, had not thought to remove the old bench that had stood there. To his delight, he soon saw that she hadn't. The bench, grey and weather-beaten, stood where it always had, conveniently hidden from sight from the rest of the garden. Carefully, he set Bell down on the bench and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Wait here," he whispered, before turning back towards the house. Back in the kitchen, he opened the fridge and discovered a few bottles of the expensive, French soda Caroline liked to drink. Quickly, he slipped one of the small bottles in the left pocket of his trousers, picking a champagne glass from the counter and slipping it into the right one. On his way out, he was met by a waitress who was carrying a tray of canapés.

"Let me help you with those," he said, snatching the tray from her hands and disappearing behind the corner before she had time to form a reply. On the patio, he nodded politely to Louisa Hurst and a few or her friends, who were obviously wondering why the best man was carrying around a tray of canapés. From the chairs arranged under the canopy that had been set on the patio, he grabbed a pillow, giving a conspiratorial wink to little Andrew Hurst who was leaning back on one of the chairs, reading a comic book.

When he returned to the bench by the river, he found Bell waiting for him, her hands folded over her very pregnant belly, eyeing him inquisitively.

"What are you up to, husband?"

He smiled, settling the tray on the ground and crouching next to her. "I thought you deserved a little break from the festivities."

"But don't you think that they'll start missing us soon? We're the best man and the matron of honour, after all."

"I'm sure they'll manage just fine without us for a little while. Besides, my pregnant wife needs her rest, wedding or no wedding," he replied, settling the pillow behind her back so that she could lean comfortably against the armrest. After pouring her a glass of the pink soda and offering her a few of the canapés, he sat down next to her, lifting her feet onto his lap. When he opened the straps of her shoes and slipped them off her feet, she sighed audibly.

"Have I told you lately that you're the best husband a girl could ask for?"

He laughed, starting to rub her foot, eliciting more sighs from her. "You have. But feel free to repeat yourself as often as you like."

She smiled. "I love you, Will Darcy."

:-:

**_3. Thursday, September 30th, 2010_**

"Bloody… fucking… hell!" Elizabeth screamed, clasping the edge of the kitchen table, her knuckles white, her face red.

"A big one?" he asked, his face pale with worry.

She nodded, her eyes closed, leaning against the table as the pain slowly subsided. It was four o'clock in the morning, and they'd been up for at least three hours. At first, the contractions had been mild and far apart, seeming to pass as she had turned around in the bed and let him rub her back. But little by little, they had become more intense, and by the time they started to come around every twenty minutes or so, Elizabeth was fairly sure that baby Darcy was on its way. But then again, she had also been fairly sure two days earlier, and they had ended up making a useless trip to the hospital, and in the middle of the night, too.

"Are you sure you don't want to leave yet, love?"

She nodded, again. "Let's wait a little longer, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, reluctantly, reaching to touch her cheek. "But if the next one is as bad as that one, we're leaving."

When she screamed again fifteen minutes later, Will packed her in the car and drove her to the hospital, brooking no objections. And a good thing it was that he did, for this time it was no false alarm.

At seven thirty A.M., after what seemed to Elizabeth like a small eternity of pushing, screaming, and pushing some more, she gave birth to a precious, tiny baby girl. Later, as the little wonder nuzzled against her mother's belly, her tiny nose wrinkling as she sniffed Elizabeth's skin, Elizabeth forgot all about the pain and the exhaustion. Tears ran down her face as her eyes turned from her daughter to her husband, and then to her daughter again.

"We did it," she sniffed, squeezing his hand. "I- I can't believe we did it. She's... she's beautiful."

He smiled, gently pushing sweaty locks of hair away from her forehead, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.

"_You_ did it. You were amazing."

"No, love," she replied, turning to look at him again, smiling. "We did it. Together."

:-:

**_4. Sunday, November 13th, 2010_**

"See," Will cooed, as he expertly sealed the tapes of the nappy, "daddy's getting pretty good at this, right?"

Little Abigail Darcy looked at him wide-eyed, in what he could only assume was a doubtful expression. When he saw that her lower lip was jutting out again, trembling threateningly, he quickly redid the poppers of her onesie and scooped her in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

"Shhh, love," he whispered, patting her bottom gently. "See? Daddy fixed the problem. It's dry, no more poo-poo."

Swaying back and forth in a soothing rhythm, he made his way towards the drawing room, pushing the bedroom door closed when he passed it.

"Let's give mummy a little sleep this morning, shall we?" he asked, pressing little kisses on the crown of his daughter's head. She let out an excited gurgle, and he chuckled, moving quickly away from the bedroom door. Passing through the drawing room, he carried little Abby to the small library – Bell's favourite room in their new, improved flat. Settling down on the old leather armchair that had been moved there from the bedroom to make room for Abby's crib, he took the blanket that had been thrown over the headrest and wrapped it loosely around himself and his daughter, smiling down at her. Reaching for the remote control on the table next to the chair, he turned on the stereo and soon, quiet music filled the little room.

"You like that?" he asked. By way of reply, his daughter squealed enthusiastically, which he took to mean yes.

"Good," he smiled, "it's mummy's favourite, too. Now, I've been thinking, and I'm pretty sure that it's time you and I had a little father-to-daughter talk, don't you think?"

He stroked her tummy with the back of his hand, his heart melting when her tiny hand curled around one of his fingers and held tightly.

"Now," he started, swallowing the tightness that had suddenly appeared in his throat, "we'll start with the important things first, okay?"

His daughter paid no attention to him, tugging at his finger, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"Now, when you start watching _Star Wars_, the first thing you will notice is that Luke Skywalker is a complete twit."

Little Abby snuffled in agreement.

"He has a horrible haircut and he whines. A lot. But the important thing to keep in mind is this: _Star Wars_ is a really good film, despite the fact that the most important character is a bit of a ninny. Now, you remember what I told you about the X-wings, right? And what I said about Darth Vader being..."

At the doorway, Elizabeth stood quietly, watching Will explain the intricacies of a galaxy far, far away to his captivated audience, at that moment busy trying to suckle his t-shirt. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her heart swelled at the sight of the two, comfortably snuggled in the old chair. Her very own little family.

:-:

**_5. Friday, 24th December, 2010_**

"Love," Elizabeth whispered, stroking Will's shoulder. "Are you awake?"

He smiled, not opening his eyes. "Not really."

She lifted the edge of the duvet and slipped under it, snuggling close to him.

"Well, I was just thinking, your daughter is finally asleep again..."

He opened his eyes, his brow quirking in amusement. "Why is it that you only refer to her as _my_ daughter whenever she's being troublesome?"

She smiled. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? We both know what a serene, well-behaved family the Bennets are, so those troublesome traits _must_ be your influence, right?"

Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her, rolling their bodies around in a swift move, pinning her underneath himself.

"I'll show you _troublesome_, Mrs. Darcy," he growled, starting to press hungry, wet kisses on her neck. As he moved lower, he stopped suddenly, freezing into place.

"Bell?" he asked, slowly, lifting his head to look at her.

"What?" she replied, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

"What are you wearing?"

She bit her lip, blushing, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Well, um, your Christmas present. I thought you might prefer to open it when we're alone."

His eyes widened. "Really?" he breathed. "Are you sure you're ready?"

She smiled, reaching to cup his cheek. "I'm sure. It's been too damn long already."

Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the duvet aside and let his gaze travel over her form, taking in the gossamer fabric of the new camisole she was wearing. Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. At first, after the birth of little Abby, both he and Bell had been too exhausted to so much as think about sex. Later, when the worst exhaustion had passed, they had tried several times, but it had been to no avail – each time, Bell had hurt enormously, and they'd been forced to stop. And now? Could it be that she was better now? He fervently hoped so.

"You'll tell me straight away if it hurts, right?" he whispered, slipping the strap of the camisole off her shoulder with trembling fingers, brushing his lips against her collarbone.

"It won't," she replied, sinking her fingers in his hair, guiding his head lower down.

"Bell..."

She smiled. "I will, I promise."

Later, as he hovered above her, his chest heaving, sweaty, she gave him the most brilliant of smiles and whispered,

"Merry Christmas, love."

:-:

**To be continued...**


	15. Chapter 15

_Here comes the second part of my epilogue that wouldn't end, and also the penultimate post for Thirteen Days, I'm sorry for taking forever and a day to update. As always, I want to thank my beta Gayle for her encouragement and help, all remaining blunders are mine:) _

_**6. Friday, December 31**__**st**__**, 2010.**_

"Oh God, look!" Georgiana whispered urgently, looking across the drawing room. "What the bloody hell is Richard doing?"

Looking up from Abby's smiling face, Elizabeth directed her gaze across the room, her jaw dropping when she saw what was happening on the makeshift dance floor Charles had improvised for the amusement of their guests.

"Oh my God! Is that... Caroline?"

At that very moment, Richard, currently in the business of dancing a slow song with Charles's sister, deemed it appropriate to lower his hands considerably.

"Eww!" Georgiana cried. "He's feeling her buttocks! Quick, hide poor Abby's eyes; she'll be traumatized for life!"

Giggling breathlessly, Elizabeth and Georgiana rushed to the kitchen where they were met by Jane, who was preparing a new bowl of punch.

"Lizzy? Georgie? What's going on?"

"If you were planning to spike that thing," Elizabeth laughed, inclining her head towards the punch bowl, "I think you'd best reconsider. Or, at least, make sure that Richard doesn't get his hands on it, I think he's had enough."

This brought on a new fit of giggles from Georgiana, soon accompanied by wild squeals from her niece.

"Seriously, Lizzy, what's going on?" Jane repeated, confused by the hysterics.

"What do you think, love?" Elizabeth cooed to Abby, lifting her up and kissing the tip of her nose, causing the little girl to gurgle happily. "Should we tell Auntie Jane what Uncle Richard is up to?"

Just then, Will stepped into the kitchen through the door that lead to the foyer. "What's Uncle Richard done now?" he asked, smiling, walking over to Elizabeth and Abby, who was already eagerly reaching her hands towards her daddy.

"You don't want to know," Elizabeth laughed, as he bent to kiss her cheek and take Abby from her.

He lifted his brows. "This doesn't sound promising."

"Caroline might not agree with you," Georgiana quipped.

"Caroline?" Will asked, confused. And then, he happened to catch a glimpse of what was going on in the drawing room.

"Oh, no," he moaned. "I can't believe him! That's... that's..."

"Quite surprising?" Elizabeth offered, cheerfully.

"Completely gross?" Georgiana suggested, giggling.

"Absolutely bloody insane!" Will muttered, giving Abby back to Elizabeth. And then, he headed to the drawing room, a menacing scowl on his face.

"Richard…."

_**7. **__**Thursday, March 31**__**st**__**, 2011**_

Yawning, Elizabeth smiled amusedly, as Abby once again repeated her favourite routine – rolling over the soft, large rug that covered a good part of the drawing room floor. When she reached the edge, she let out a delightedly surprised squeal as her hands and feet touched the cool surface of the floor, and quickly changed direction, only to repeat the same exact routine at the other end of the rug. Briefly, Elizabeth thought that sometime soon Abby would probably discard rolling in favour of crawling. That, she supposed laughingly, was when the real trouble would begin.

Looking at the clock, Elizabeth noticed that it was barely noon. Will would not be back home for hours. Biting her lip, she tried to stop another yawn from escaping her mouth. Over the previous weekend, Abby had become more cranky than usual, waking up several times a night. Though she did not seem sick exactly, she had been crying much more than was her wont, and both Will and Elizabeth had been worried. On Monday morning, Will had reluctantly left for a four-day conference in Manchester, promising to come home immediately if Abby didn't start to get better.

But, it had turned out, there was nothing wrong at all with their daughter, quite the contrary. When on Tuesday morning, after three sleepless nights, Elizabeth had taken Abby to see the doctor, he had examined her carefully and declared that little Abigail Darcy would soon be the proud owner of her very first tooth. Elizabeth had laughed, relieved that her daughter was not sick after all, embarrassed that it had not occurred to her and Will that Abby might be simply teething.

By the end of the fifth sleepless night, however, Elizabeth was starting to learn that teething, despite being perfectly harmless, was a serious business. Both she and Abby were exhausted, and Elizabeth was reminded of those early times after birth when sleep had seemed like a distant memory.

"You little rascal," Elizabeth cooed as she scooted Abby up from the floor, blowing a big, wet kiss on the little girl's cheek, making her giggle. "How is it that you still have the energy to roll around like that when mummy can barely keep her eyes open?"

Abby patted her cheek affectionately, before grabbing a tight hold of her ear and pulling with all her might, causing Elizabeth to yelp.

"Right," Elizabeth smiled, after dislodging the insistent little hand from her earlobe. "How about we go and see if Aunt Maddy's at home? Would you like that?"

Abby burped loudly, which Elizabeth took as a sign of agreement.

"And you know," Elizabeth said longingly, while dressing Abby up and settling her on the pushchair, "perhaps while you're playing with Auntie, mummy can have a little rendezvous with that plush sofa in their drawing room…."

Just then, she heard a rustling noise from the front door and realized that it was caused by a key turning in the lock. With an unexpected force, she felt relief flood through her, and by the time the door opened to reveal Will, she was trying to blink away the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.

"Bell?" Will asked, confused, when his wife leaped towards him before he had barely had time to register what was happening, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest.

"Oh, love," she sighed. "I'm so happy you're home."

_**8. Saturday, April 16**__**th**__**, 2011**_

"Admit it," Will chuckled, as he twirled his wife around the dance floor of the Viennese hotel where Anne Bergstein and her Karl were having their wedding reception. "You didn't understand a word of it!"

"Of course I did!" Bell huffed. "I'll have you know that it was a very touching poem. Why else would I have cried my eyes out?"

"Because you're a big wimp?" he replied, pulling her closer, smiling at the pout that had appeared on her face.

"Am not!"

"Or because all the other women cried, and you didn't want them to know that you had no idea what the poem was about?"

"Of course I know what the poem was about. As I said, it was _very_ touching."

"Right," he smiled, suddenly dipping her backwards, causing her to catch her breath. "So remind me again," he continued, pulling her back up again, "which part of Karl's recital was it exactly that had you bawling so?"

She narrowed her eyes, but just as he had expected, refused to admit defeat. "Well," she started, hesitantly, "there was that part of how their souls are the same…"

"And?"

She seemed to think for a moment, and then smiled triumphantly. "…and I was _really_ moved when he said that his love for Anne resembles the eternal rocks beneath."

He raised his brow. "Isn't that from _Wuthering Heights_?"

He watched as her mouth opened to form a reply, and then snapped shut again as she realized that she'd been caught.

He laughed out loud. "Just admit it! You don't know two words of German!"

"I know two words," she grumbled, but he noticed that there was already a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"And what are they, if I may enquire?"

"Well," she mused, "there's _sauerkraut_."

He nodded. "Always a useful word when one wants to woo a woman."

"And then, of course," she smiled, "if you _really_ want to have your woman go weak in the knees, there's always the_ lederhose_."

Laughing, he pulled her tightly against his chest, a happy, warm feeling spreading through him when he felt the way her body melted against his as they swayed to the slow rhythm of the music. Bending his head, he placed a slow, lingering kiss directly below her ear and whispered,

"_Ich liebe Dich_."

Turning her head, she kissed him on the lips, the rhythm of their movement momentarily faltering as he stopped to reciprocate.

"That," she said, softly. "_That_ I understood."

_**9. Monday, May **__**2**__**nd**__**, 2011**_

Scooting closer to Will, Elizabeth wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned against him. In front of them, on a quilt spread on the lawn, sat little Abby, warily eyeing a little boy who was spying at her from behind the tree that Will and Elizabeth were leaning against. Each time the boy's head popped in sight from behind the tree trunk, Abby curled one little, chubby hand possessively around the beach ball she was playing with, and lifted the other towards him in a forbidding gesture, letting out what she no doubt imagined was a threatening growl. It was not, and both her parents had a hard time trying not to laugh whenever she repeated the gesture.

"He just wants to play with you, Ab," Elizabeth said, smiling. "He's not going to steal the ball, I promise."

Abby eyed her mother skeptically, before leaning firmly against the ball and squeezing both her hands tightly around it, her lower lip jutting out in a familiar show of obstinacy. Georgiana, lying on a quilt of her own, was the first to laugh.

"Come on Abby," she said, putting her book away and getting up. "Let's play a little football with your new friend. You need to practice, you know, if you want to kick your new cousin's butt in a few years. Boys are awfully quick to learn these sorts of things."

Twirling Abby around in the air for a few times to the little girl's amusement, Georgiana then lowered her down and gently swung her a little so that her feet kicked the beach ball a short way from the quilts. The little boy behind the tree instantly darted after the ball, but in a few short seconds Abby's horror over losing the ball turned into excited delight, as he kicked the ball back towards them. When Georgiana swung her forward again, a wild laughter escaped her mouth, causing her parents to laugh, too.

"Look at her, bending it like Beckham," Will said smugly, as Abby's feet touched the ball again. "Bingley's kid isn't going to stand a chance against our girl!"

"Right," Elizabeth laughed. "I can see where this is going. She can't even walk yet and you're already wondering if they make football boots in her size!"

"But of course," he laughed, pulling her closer and leaning his chin on her shoulder. "If she really wants to become proficient, she's going to need to start practicing early…"

"You sound like my mum! Or even worse, Anne's mum!"

"…and I think she's going to need a few more teammates, too."

"What?" Elizabeth asked, unsure if he meant what she thought he meant.

"Well," he said quietly, his hand drawing distracted circles on her stomach. "I've been thinking. I'm sure Abby can beat one Bingley kid in a football match easily enough, but what if they have twins?"

She smiled. "They're not having twins, and you know that."

"But what if they were? Don't you think it's our parental responsibility to make sure that Ab won't be outnumbered?"

"And what if Jane and Charles decide to have nine kids?"

"Well," he mused, covertly slipping his hand under the hem of her shirt to rest on her stomach. "I've always thought that ten is a nice, even number…."

"Will!"

"Okay," he laughed, "maybe not ten. But don't you think that Ab would like a sister or a brother, eventually?"

"Yeah," she smiled, turning her head to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I do. Eventually."


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's note: Here we go, the last bits of Thirteen Days. A word of warning: Against all odds, there's some angst ahead. Just keep in mind that I've promised you a happy ending:) I want to thank you all for reading, and especially those of you who have taken the time to comment, too, it means so much to me. And of course, I want to thank Matt for his help with the first half of this story and, above all, Gayle, my grammar beta. She's bloody amazing._

_Happy holidays, everyone!_

_- Boogima_

_**10. Wednesday, July 27**__**th**__**, 2011**_

"Oh, crap," Elizabeth laughed as she glanced in the rearview mirror to see Char Lucas, nearly buried under a big heap of blue Ikea bags. "Will's going to kill me when he sees all of this!"

"Don't forget that half of these are mine," Char chuckled, rearranging the enormous bag on her lap so that she could see Abby, sitting in her safety seat next to Elizabeth, facing towards the backseat.

"That would be a slight consolation," Elizabeth agreed," if the boot wasn't full, too!"

Slowing down to stop at the traffic lights, she turned towards her daughter, smiling. "What do you think, Ab? Is daddy going to blow his top?"

"Da-da-da!" Abby cried excitedly, and both Elizabeth and Char laughed.

"A definite yes, I should say," Elizabeth chuckled. "I think I'm in big trouble."

"That's rubbish and you know it. I don't think that man is capable of being upset with you! And the same goes for you, I might add. It's quite disgusting, really."

"Please, Char, you sound like Richard! We do fight… occasionally."

"Right."

"We do! Just the other week we…."

Five minutes earlier, Annie Alden, age 23, had rushed out of her boyfriend's flat, his car keys in hand. Her left cheek was red and swollen where her boyfriend's palm had landed sometime earlier, and though it was a weekday and she was supposed to go to work the next morning, she was so drunk that she could barely stand up. When, at a junction not far away from the flat she had escaped, the car swerved out of her control, she barely realized what was happening.

And so, Elizabeth never got to finish her sentence.

_**11. Thursday, July 28**__**th**__**, 2011**_

At 2:00 A.M., Will pushed himself up from the floor of the men's room in the intensive care unit of Meryton General Hospital. With shaky legs, he walked to the sinks, a new wave of nausea almost making him drop on his knees again. He splashed cold water on his face, drinking a few gulps, then spitting it out, trying to rinse the foul taste away from his mouth. When he lifted his eyes to the mirror, he barely recognized the haggard man looking back at him.

In the corridor, he was met with the worried gaze of his sister.

"You okay?"

"No," he replied, simply. It was a stupid question.

Six hours earlier, he had been home, preparing dinner, waiting for Bell and Abby to return from a daytrip to Ikea. He had cut his finger when the phone had rung for the first time and, instead of answering, had rushed to the bathroom to find the disinfectant and a plaster. A few minutes later, it had rung again, and when he had picked up the phone, he had been greeted by a grave male voice asking him if he was the husband of Elizabeth Darcy.

A drunk driver, they had told him when he'd reached the hospital, had lost control of her car and hit the one Elizabeth was driving.

"_Abby?"_ he had choked, his heart hammering in his chest. _"My daughter?"_

"_The little one is fine, only a little scared,"_ the nurse had told him, and he had breathed a sigh of relief.

"_And my wife?"_

The look on the nurse's face had been enough to tell him that his wife, indeed, was not fine at all. Having been seated on the side of the impact, she had taken the brunt of the collision. While Abby was as good as new and Char Lucas only had a few bumps and bruises, Elizabeth had suffered several fractures and some internal damage and, most worrisome, a head trauma that had left her unconscious. The next twenty-four hours, Will had been told, would be critical.

While Elizabeth had been in surgery, Will had sat with Abby, watching his daughter sleep, her thumb in her mouth, perfectly unaware of the fact that her mother was fighting for her life. The utter relief of knowing that Abby was okay had tangled in Will's chest with the suffocating knowledge that Elizabeth was not, forming a knot so tight that he barely had been able to breathe. What would become of them if she did not make it?

"Could you go sit with Abby in case she wakes up?" he asked his sister. She was the only one left of the horde of people who had surrounded him earlier in the evening. Ed and Maddy Gardiner had taken Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth's younger sisters home several hours ago, as it had become apparent that Mrs. Bennet's nerves only served to add to the general distress. Jane and Charles had left a short while ago, promising to come back first thing in the morning. But Georgiana had remained, staunchly refusing to leave when Will had suggested that she might want to get a few hours of sleep. He had been thankful.

"Of course. You'll let me know if there's any change?"

He nodded, turning towards the room he had exited some fifteen minutes earlier when the wave of nausea at the thought of never hearing his wife laugh again had overcome him.

"Love?" he asked, stepping into the dimly lit room. But of course, there was no answer.

Pulling a chair next to the bed, he swallowed hard, trying to fight the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. She looked so pale and fragile, lying there, her chest rising and falling at a slow, even pace. Gently, he reached for her hand, cradling it between his palms.

"Bell, love," he whispered, "we need to have a serious discussion. I- I've been thinking, and I can't let you do this. Do you hear me? I won't allow it. You must come back to us. You- you know I don't know the first thing about dresses and dolls and all that girly stuff; Abby's going to need her mother for that. And I- I-"

His voice broke as an involuntary sob escaped his mouth. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut to stop the tears from coming, he leaned his head against their joined hands.

"Come back, love," he whispered, squeezing his fingers around her hand. "Come back. I can't do this without you."

_**12. Friday, August 19**__**th**__**, 2011**_

Gently, Will reached his hand between the cot bars to touch the face of his daughter, fast asleep next to him. One night some two weeks ago, he had dragged Abby's cot next to the big bed so that Abby could sleep closer to him. Or rather, so that he could sleep closer to her. His impulsive whim had left nasty scrapes on the hardwood floor, and he had later wondered why he hadn't been more careful or asked someone to help him. Richard would have come, no doubt, he had stopped by almost every day since Bell's accident. But then, he might have brought Caroline with him, and Will was in no mood for her insincere solicitude. The mere thought made him shudder. As often before, he wondered what Richard saw in Charles's high-maintenance sister. But then, he supposed, stranger things had happened.

He touched the tip of Abby's nose and smiled slightly as it wrinkled, a snuffling sound escaping her mouth. Looking at the clock, he realized that it was too early to wake her up and reluctantly pulled his hand away, turning over in the bed. As he looked at the untouched pillow next to his own, he felt his throat tighten in an all too familiar manner. Closing his eyes, he lowered his palm on the smooth, cool surface of the sheet, trying to imagine that it was Bell's soft skin he was stroking. It was a useless effort. Soon enough, he felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, and his fist clenched around the fabric of the sheet. Bloody hell, he would not cry. He had done quite enough of that in the past weeks. Today, of all days, was definitely not a day for tears.

Turning around again, he realized that he was being watched. Eyes wide open, quiet as a mouse, his daughter was looking at him with a puzzled expression. Quickly, he wiped his eyes and gave her a big smile, getting up and lifting her in his arms.

"Good morning, Abby Abbington," he said, kissing the crown of her head, smiling as she nuzzled her face in his t-shirt. Lying back on the bed, he settled her on his stomach.

"So, how are you this morning?" he asked. "Nervous? Impatient?"

Abby yawned, rubbing her cheek against his shirt and closing her eyes again.

"I suppose that's a no, then," he chuckled. "Well, you should know that daddy hardly slept a wink."

He looked at the clock again. Six-thirty. It was way too early. But perhaps, if he took a really long time dressing Abby up and making her breakfast? And then drove very, very slowly? Yes, he decided. He could not wait another minute.

"Come on, Abs," he said, getting up and giving her another kiss. "It's time to get going."

Taking a few dance steps, he lifted her on the nursing table. "Okay," he explained as he undressed her and took off her nappy. "First, we're going to take a shower, right? We wouldn't want anyone to think that we've become sloppy, would we?"

Slipping off his boxer shorts and t-shirt, he lifted her up again and crouched down to rummage through a basket of clean laundry waiting to be folded and put into the closet.

"See?" he said, lifting up a pink hooded towel with a snout and a pair of floppy ears. "Miss Piggy is back from her trip to the washing machine. Do you suppose she'd like to come to the bathroom with us?"

Abby reached her hands towards the pink towel, babbling happily, as if she had just been reacquainted with an old friend.

"Right," he chuckled, realizing that it would have been wiser to introduce Miss Piggy _after_ the shower, instead of before it. Now that she had found her friend, Abby would not let go of it without a fight.

"Come on," he said, starting towards the bathroom. "Shower-time. And then, we're going to go and get mummy home!"

"Mum-ma," Abby replied, making Will stop in his tracks.

"What?"

"Mum-ma!" Abby repeated, pounding Miss Piggy's snout against his chest for emphasis.

He started to laugh, lifting her high in the air, his eyes again filling with unbidden tears. "Yes! Mummy! We're going to get mummy home from the hospital!"

_**13. Sunday, December 25**__**th**__**, 2011**_

Leaning against the doorframe, Will looked at the three ladies sitting on the floor of the big drawing room of Pemberley. Their backs were towards him and two pairs of eyes were glued to the lights of the Christmas tree – and one pair greedily eyeing the pile of presents underneath it. Abby reached for the nearest parcel impatiently, and Georgiana grabbed her in her arms, laughing.

"Not yet, little lady! We must wait for your daddy!"

Will smiled. Bell was wearing the dark red dress he had presented her with that morning, the wrap that went with it carelessly tossed over the armrest of the sofa. Even in the faint light of the Christmas tree, he could see the long scar on her right arm, a painful reminder of how close he and Abby had come to losing her in the summer. He had never been a religious man, but he thanked God every day for saving his wife.

Unwilling to make his presence known just yet, he let his gaze travel over Bell's slender figure, a pleasant shiver running down his spine as he thought of the things she had done to him earlier, while Georgiana and Abby had been outside, playing in the snow. _"Come on,"_ she had laughed, when he had protested that his sister and Abby might return any minute. _"Don't be such a sissy. They won't be back in for at least an hour. Besides, I talked to Jane today, and they're already planning on a second one. Team Darcy needs your efforts." _And then, she had proceeded to undress him and made him call out her name.

Abby was the first to notice him.

"Daddy!" she cried, pushing herself off from Georgiana's arms and starting towards him.

His chest swelled at the sight in front of him. His daughter, determinedly walking towards him. His sister, giggling at the wobbly steps of her niece. His wife, looking straight at him, a mischievous smile on her face, no doubt thinking of the same exact thing that had been on his mind only moments before.

His girls.

**The End**


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